Creep wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind, all life death does end
2003-01-30 || 5:23 p.m.

It looks like Alain had a bit of a diary fest yesterday judging by how many pages were read of my diary and how few people actually went on.

You know, I fool you all with my words.

I've been thinking about this all day. How to tell you all the truth. The real truth. Sorry, no, it's not some great secret I've been hiding, it's just that I feel so fake.

People are thoughtful and leave me nice messages. Some people are even kind enough and concerned enough to email me. Some people, like the beautiful Tasmin, become a real friend; someone who I am so glad to know.

But you shouldn't and you wouldn't - not if you truly understood.

I am ugly inside and out.

My outside and inside reflect and perpetuate each other. Both are foulness itself.

I am so nasty that still I wish for and hope for more. Still I want to be held and loved. But the truth of it is, that the universe is so perfectly planned, that thankfully that will never be.

And I can cut and cry but they are the only emotions I will ever know. And one day I will invite the blackness in forever; it's just a formality. I know where I'm going.

And every day I see the beauty in others just a little bit more and mostly I am thankful now that I am corrupting no-one.

I'm sorry I'm hurting Rebecca.

Sometimes I yearn but mostly that has stopped. Sometimes I cry, but that's purely mechanical.

And I will never get treatment. Firstly, because I don't need it and secondly because the medical profession should be used for the benefit of humanity. Not for the benefit of me.