very depressive and naked and personal meditation on the Shoah and all whatver that implicates

Yes, it has become my life's main goal to never fall victim to the destructive wave of the many, for my legs shall be steadfast in the morass it leaves when the waters retract with the tide! Yes, it has become the purpose of my life to show myself - and the world - that it is possible to do so. If I ever have to confess to some court of my tribunal, with the black sludge of shame and self-hatred having replaced my intestines, that - "I was just following orders", then my worth as a human being has been irrevocably expended. 
The thought of this possibility, of becoming possessed by the many, is real to me and to everyone else, for it is a human possibility, and whatever is human in us, is hard to scrape off with the blunt side of a knife: humanity is not just dog-shit on the sole of our shoe, however much we wish for it, and to admit defeat to the ugliest demons of this humanity, is to admit defeat as a human being, and it is to become oneself mere dog-shit on the sole of something great; sardonic; godlike... 

To lose oneself is to become the many, and this has become, over the lapse of years, the most trepidating and angstsome nightmare of my life. It is the only existential prospect from which I feel horror; that, and to die in a clumsy, accidental and humiliating way. Thence I shall do everything in my power to make sure that, if the day of sombre reckoning really comes my path, and if the judges and attorneys then smite me with the questions and inquiries whose responses I can not formulate with a straight spine, then I shall recognize that I have failed catastrophically in my life. I shall surely have the power to kill myself out of pure and simple self-revulsion from uttering those words with a conscientious heart, "I was just following orders"!  

For this reason,  I absolutely hate parts of what I am and what I am capable of. I am disgusted - sometimes in a very total way - by myself and my own capabilities. I would want to commit suicide out of shame - but maybe things have amounted, by then, to such a pathetic summit that I require fucking orders for that at well?
Who am I, even, to have the luxury of killing myself in my own debasement and self-hatred? Cattle are herded to the abbatoir - pigs can not choose the glamour of suicide as its final statement to the world! And maybe that option is depleted for me as well! For by this day, and afore the tribunal of my damnation, I have erased the lines I have focused a whole life to draw, the lines between the one and the many - and cowards do not deserve suicide. 

Yes, it has become the goal of my whole project of self-improvement, yes indeed the focal purpose of my very life, to be able to think, when the hearse comes my path, the phantom carriage of death, that in all my life, I never followed an order I knew I ought not to follow.