This artifice of depression has wormed its way into my head and, like a Swiss backpacker, has overstayed its welcome.

J’s Diary Entry

Sunday, 28 May 1995

Not much of a day.  Returned some library books, did some shopping, did some washing. Cooked cous-cous, wasn’t half bad actually.

Leah stayed at Aidans’s last night. They went to a 21st birthday party, Leah had some falling-out with Aidan’s Mum and came home early today.  She’s pissed off.  We went for a bit of a drive around Flemington and looked at houses.  I’m turning into my mother.  Most frightening part is that I don’t really mind.

Just had a thought.  Maybe I was rebellious (in my own small, bourgeois way) as I went through adolescence because I identified with my Mum so strongly, but knew it wasn’t “the norm”. It might be misguided, this idea, I dunno.  It’s possible, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.  Maybe I was rebelling against what I saw as the “Dad” parts of me, and I got rid of them and so I became more like Mum.  This idea is equally plausible.  Maybe it had nothing to do with Mum or Dad. Perhaps it was just me being a depressive drama queen – “Look at me everybody! I’m depressed, how artistic! What tragedy! Quick everybody love me so I can reject you and you can love me twice as hard, equally unconditionally!”

God I can be so hard on myself, not that I don’t deserve it.  Well, I did back then, it’s a little different now. Now this artifice of depression has wormed its way into my head and, like a Swiss backpacker, has overstayed its welcome. I can’t get rid of it anymore and I really do want everyone to go away.  Everyone except Mum and Simon, oddly enough.

I love Mum, and I think Simon understands me. He puts up with me anyway, which is probably better in the long run.  Simon is still in love with Kerry “The Nurse”, he wears his heart on his sleeve in an honest, non-attention-seeking manner that’s both endearing and worrying, I think I just want to mother him. He’s talking of leaving in September, following his erstwhile love over to Europe with his boyhood pal, Oink. I’m loosing Simon to man named Oink. Great.

 

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