I'm trying very hard to avoid the time being very nearly right
2002-10-20 || 5:49 p.m.

Ok, I am sick. Yes, its my second Sunday whinge.

Rebecca said to me earlier that she thought I was mentally ill. I think she is right.

Let's look at the evidence:

I believe, truly, that all the ills in the world can be traced back to me. Some burden eh? Somehow they can. I will elaborate on this further in a minute.

I cannot do anything. I can't read again. I cannot physically pick up a book. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry.

I sleep all the time I can. At the weekends I get up, usually around 8.30am because, after all, that is two and a half hours later than in the week. I come downstairs. Make a cup of tea and lay down on the sofa and fall asleep. I generally doze like that for a few hours, knowing I have stuff to do. I keep looking at the clock and giving myself a time limit, but I always extend it, usually by a few hours. When I do finally get up I feel too tired to do anything. My arms and legs ache. I get chest pains if I think about going anywhere.

I don't care what I wear. I want to scream. I can't eat.

I made breakfast today at 5pm.

I am neglecting my daughter. I am not fit to be her mother.

I have not done my school work.

I did however clean the rabbits out. I cannot let innocent animals suffer because I am evil.

Rebecca rang Alain earlier. She wanted to tell him what she had done over the weekend. I heard her talking in a quiet, sympathetic voice. When she came off the 'phone I asked her if everything was ok. She told me that grandad is in intensive care.

Alain's dad has cancer of the oesophagus. He is on this trial treatment. He started chemotherapy about two weeks ago. If I was not such a total bitch, Alain would not have left and his dad may not have deteriorated so rapidly. I know his cancer is not my fault but the additional stresses caused by me, are.

I am so fucking awful. I am glad that people don't want to be in touch with me.

I think that Rebecca should go and see her grandad but I don't think I am in a position to request this. When my grandad was dying I went down to see him. My step nan insisted. She was right. I was so grateful to Freda for that. I will never forgive myself for not making it down to see Freda when she was dying. I know this may sound stupid but I know she came to see me to let me know that it was ok, about six months later because smells happen for no reason other than that type of visit. I want Rebecca to go and see him but strangely Alain's family have never accepted Rebecca because she is my daughter. They don't seem to remember she is Alain's daughter too.

You see, this is what happens with a diary. You get one perspective, one point of view. I am not a very nice person. Not at all. Lots of people dislike me. To Alain's family I am evil personified. I can be a real bitch.

This entry is a pile of cack isn't it?

Oh God, what am I trying to say? I need to write here at the moment, I really do. I am so tired. I want to go upstairs and lie down. My bed is well cosy at the moment. I have my blanket I got for Christmas a few years back, its German and its really thick, its all reds and browns and oranges with pictures on and a fringe along two sides. Its fucking lovely. I want to snuggle down and listen to music in the dark. Unfortunately Alain took the CD player! Along with the DVD player, all the videos, oh, and the plates! yes the fucking plates - how hilarious is that?

Everytime I shut my eyes I have this vision of me sitting in an upright position with my knees hugged to my chest. I am covered with a thick, black cloth. I don't think this is a vision for the future, this is a vision of how I appear to the world.