In 2010 I finally obtained something I am terrified to lose. Love for a love-virgin is like an addiction. I broke, I snapped. I can't control myself when it feels like the very bane of misery is being placed on my shoulders. I can't handle a day. I can't handle a day without being loved. The very thought of sitting on a bed without the company of another is the bane of my misery. I died last night. A dead body cannot smile or think or talk. He was talking to a dead body. It started with nothing. I can't explain in any other way than if I were to say that the very energy of the world became sucked out of me and in it's place the most infinite and soul-crushing despair filed my head, my heart and my thoughts. I thought about playing in traffic. Next time I may not be so lucky. And his face. His beautiful, helpless face. I cried harder when I knew he could do nothing. I wanted to die but I wanted him to understand too. It is not too hard to understand that the misery of existance can be expelled in one short bang. I thought he could help me but I discovered there and then that I am beyond help. If he can't help me then nobody else would be justified in trying. I rely on him too much, but I don't trust the reliance of myself. Only one thing I have learned about the despair and that is that it is worsened by alcohol. It's as though it feeds off the alcohol and my inability to think rationally.

I have become a spontaneous liar. I have thought about it and there is no reason for it. I am not covering any dangerous truth. I just prefer to say what I think people would be more apt to hearing. Besides, I am too busy to have anything else handed on my plate. I am trying so hard not to be miserable at Christmas. Trying so hard to find the energy to function. Give me a meaning. Give me a meaning.

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"Your beautiful triangle of distortion."

I'm having the soul sucked out of me, although slower than usual. We're moving house. I still won't have a room of my own. It's in a part of Kincardine that looks isolated, dead and full of troubles. I'm absolutely less than uninterested. The next move I make shall be on my own. So far, so far. I dispise change. This house may make my life a misery but at least it's familiar. I feel miserably sad. At the moment I haven't a single place I belong. Nowhere in the world. I wish I could feel. Today I don't feel. I almost feel apathy. It's not the most convenient. My nerve endings feel numb and dumb like they've had a personal shot of pain relief. What the hell is heartbreak? A word to describe the authorised and official absense of somebody. I am not here, this isn't real. There's no sun. There's no sun in my life. I wake up in the dark and I come home in the dark. Like the world is a basement, and there's so much further to go. That's four months out of twelve I can't stand. I don't know what to do with myself the other eight. If I had my way there would be two months in a year. Grow older quicker, die quicker, closer to paradise. I want to be alone. Then again if I were alone for much longer right now I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do. Am I living for a beneficial purpose? All I seem to do is use up another batch of resources.

I'd love to run away. Run. A forest, a lake. It's still there. And now it's gone. My heart did sink. I am feeling. It is worse than not feeling. Somebody please end my misery.

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Since the beginning of September I am struggling to recall significant moments in my life. I've lain drunk, dead and with a stubborn writer's block. I wish I still looked at life so introspectively. So articulately and deeply. It's been snowing and I haven't lived life through my camera. Someone has made me feel a little worthwhile. Compliments are somehow so believable when they are spoken through his mouth. Am I falling into the trap I always deemed myself never to do? I am grabbing happiness by the balls. Every now and then the lack of deep-rooted despair made me anxious that I might never feel that free again. I don't feel free. Though I do feel happy. Then one day the despair hit me like a ton of bricks and it was after that day precisely that I vowed never to take momentary happiness for granted again. I bring despair upon myself and then I revel and a little piece of me dies everytime I seem to survive. I used to be able to handle numerous nights alone and now I can barely stand one. Now that someone is willing to hold me it seems only natural to be with them every single moment of my life. What am I doing to myself? Where has my apathetic, misanthopic view of the world disappeared to? At least in that frame of mind nothing could hurt me anymore than I was hurting myself. This is a dangerous business. Caring is a dangerous business. Being cared for is dangerous. It means there are now certain limitations on the severity of which I might like to hurt myself, for I am not only living for myself. I try my best to be loved. I'm scared to love anymore than I currently do.

... What it'd do to me, I can only imagine...

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