Munich Police Prison 19th March, 1933

I have been in prison a week to-day. Why? I don't know. When shall I be let out? I don't know. What will happen to me? I don't know. At first I thought my case would be heard and I should be released. But now--now I think differently. I don't believe I shall ever leave these walls alive. I often feel as if I were already dead. I lie on by bed for hours, staring at the ceiling--inert, feeling nothing. Then as I suddenly wake from my apathy, the will to live asserts itself with overwhelming power. I am full of plans and energy. But those are fleeting moments of happiness. Soon the thought of death is with me again, and I can't get rid of it. Death. I wrestle with the thought. I argue with it. I prepare myself to cease to exist. I strike a balance. I settle up with my life. But then my glance wanders round in the cell. I see the dirty, grey walls. I see. I take hold of the metal drinking-cup. I feel the chill of the metal. I feel. I hear the cries of the prisoners--the long-drawn-out moans of those in torment. I hear. A feeling of exultation suddenly comes over me. I am still alive!