The rope was me (a letter from the past)

In a lazy day I rest in peace, or in war, or even in sadness or happiness. Contradicted feelings, weird conceptions.
That lazy day was in my bed, in the weekend. I was feeling worst than today. I didn't get sick in the body, but in the soul. I searched for the way to scape the labirinth. That labirinth was the world and me, the doubt. There is no rope, only in imagination.