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Update. What I find beautiful about research projects is that there is a certain nature of the unexpected—it can arise, and often does. Of course, I carry out thorough preparation, considering expectations and a corresponding suitable plan. Then the project begins, and it takes on a kind of life of its own, determining its own path. 

Yesterday, I was working on the dataset. The choices are there: the number of samples, the format or type of sample, the kind of recording or the background of a particular recording, and a mood or tension score. In addition, there are several technical sonological parameters.

I chose the year 2013 as the framework for assembling the dataset. After various experiments with voice recorders in 2012, I really began recording almost daily in 2013. The samples that are available indeed begin on January first. Alongside these so-called audio diaries, there are video recordings, work sketches, scripts, written texts, and other personal documents from my medical records. From the central archive, I transfer all usable files to the project disc, an external SSD. Once the dataset is complete, the next phase of the research follows.

Going through the samples—the material from 2013—brought the trauma very close. At the time, I did not know it was trauma then. The therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists didn’t know either. Intake after intake. Clinic after clinic. Escaping into alcohol, medication, sex. Then, conversely, ultramarathons, endless rides on the racing bike, or triathlons. The series of accidents fitted into that. With insomnia and destructive outbursts, dangerous combinations arose.

2013 was perhaps the most intense year. The video samples affected me deeply yesterday. An empty gaze. Empty eyes. A sunken face with skin irritation, a side effect of medication or from alcohol, probably the latter. Empty. Empty. So empty. The high tension in my voice. The manic in my behavior. “It really is five to twelve,” as the doctor said at the time.