14 April 1945, 16:00
The mood is still very low; one simply exists in that certain uncertainty. My food, as yesterday — one slice of bread so far. Word is that we will receive supper today, but that is uncertain. I am already so weak and tired that I can barely manage to write these few letters. If only there were someone I knew nearby who could at least bring me a little bread. If this carries on much longer, I will surely go mad or fall ill. I cannot endure this unless God gives me the strength, for my own is spent.
17 April 1945, 11:00
Several days have been missed from the diary, as I fell ill — possibly from eating beans constantly. I feel a little better now; yesterday was the worst of it. I collapsed in the yard but did not lose consciousness. I don't know when this nonsense will be over. Two weeks have already passed and we are no further along. The food is somewhat better now, but my strength is not recovering from it.
18 April 1945, 10:00
Delousing is under way, but my company hasn't been called yet — and when it is, perhaps not even then. I feel I am slowly recovering; it's just that my strength won't return. Bean stew twice a day, without fail. One grows to loathe it. Lately I sleep outside. It's not pleasant, as my blanket is thin. The one comfort is that with each passing day we are one day closer to freedom. Dear God, if only I could be a free man again with my brothers and sisters, as it used to be. The nights are quite cold; the days are sunny, except today — there's a bit of wind — so during the day we make up for the lost sleep of the night. Today I heard that all camps are to be cleared by the 28th. That's still dreadful — another 10 days — just so long as it doesn't get extended.