waste of paint
2003-05-07 || 7:38 p.m.

Okay. So I've been thinking for nearly the past three hours which I know is not a good thing, but I needed to think.

I remembered what it was like when Alain lived here. All the times he sneered at me and said that his one aim in life was to see me destroyed.

I wonder if it makes him happy?

Anyway, he has succeeded. I am destroyed.

So I become the song.

I wake, I wash, do stuff for Bex until she goes, work, come straight home and I cease to exist other than to take up whatever physical space I occupy for the length of time left to me.

I stop thinking about me and I very definitely stop any sort of communication with other humans. It is so not fair on them. I have nothing to offer anyone and for those times when I do have to have things to do with others, I hide this so well no-one would guess.

And when I die, instead of being the pauper with a million stuffed under my mattress I will be the woman who appeared normal but was actually a shell containing nothing but utter scum.

And I finally fully understand that I have to be thankful that no-one will ever kiss me, hold me close and care for me. It is not a sad thing, it is a good thing because I am utterly worthless.

And so this is the moment that my personality ceased to exist.