J’s Diary Entry

17 December 2001

Another day wasted in front of the PlayStation. God I hate holidays – I just don’t know what to do with myself.  It’s beautiful weather but all I want to do is sit inside a dark room and drink beer.  Good God, I’ve drunk so much beer this last fortnight.  I must have gained three kilos. Can’t bring myself to do anything about it – just keep remembering that I’m not going to sleep with anyone anyway so what does it matter if I’m fat? But then I remember – vaguely – how vital it is to me to be desired.  I think that’s my perverse ideal – to be wanted by someone so I can knock them back and get sympathy out of it somehow.  Ah – all I really want is attention.  So why do I lock myself away, let the phone ring out and drink myself into both a stupor and larger pants size? I’ve been toying with taking Prozac again.  It seemed to help a bit and I’ve got the wanna-dies again.  These days I seem to linger over what I need to do before killing myself – burning diaries, photos, letters.  Getting hold of some sedatives, organising it so that a professional (a nurse or ambulance person or cop) finds me.  Need to write a letter too.  Yeah – so I obsess about this stuff instead of the act itself.  What the hell does this mean?

*Drawing by J.