I think, if you're lucky enough to avoid madness, addiction, resignation, and outright suicide, you get to the point where you're tired of being miserable all the time. Tired of being miserable, tired of always looking backward, tired of reliving the same sad old stories, the same sorry failures, repeating the same apologies, grinding the same bitter old corn. What's the point of reliving all that misery; what's the point of keeping it alive? Is that what hell is in the end? Our inability to leave the prison we've made ourselves built out of regret & guilt & fear? There's no lock on the door, no bars on the windows, no prison at all for that matter. You don't have to break out of anything but your own sick penchant for a punishment of your own infliction. For crissakes. You've done your time ten times over. You can pardon yourself at any moment. Just say the word & you're free.