I love going mad. It feels like you've been hit with a solid wall of water - soft but solid and immovable. I watched a girl on the lawns outside the Guildhall today, staring into a hand mirror, bored of her own striking beauty. I watched a little boy chase ducks into the river. I watched an old man help his young granddaughter across the street. I watched all this and no one watched me. No one saw me - I'm invisible in my insanity.

I am in agony. It's all David's fault. That's all I'm saying.... apart from the fact I'm finding it hard to walk in a straight line.

This agony has made daily tasks rather difficult. I fell over in the shower and cut my head on a loose tile. Another owie. I slipped in a muddy puddle and ended up caked to the thigh in brown. My parents find it hilarious.... especially as I am now sat at my desk with one leg hanging over the back of my chair and the other on top of the computer box in an attempt to alleviate my disquietude.

He's in biiiiiig trouble!

In other news, the world (as far as I am aware) is still turning, John Prescott is still a fat odourous pig and there is a bluebottle flying around my head in the last seconds of its life.

5 seconds later: News update. The bluebottle is dead. I must now take my leave to wreak my vengeance on 'The Boy'. Mwahahaha!

Television is becoming an abomination. I watched an episode of the Simple Life today (I was ill and bored). Two 'celebrities', Paris Hilton (heiress to the hotel empire) and Nicole Ritchie (not sure who the hell she is), 'worked' for a day at a place that made computer circuit boards. They must have caused $1000s damages. I was stunned at the complete lack of respect that they both had for what other call their work, their livelihood. It was disgusting. Apparently this is the basis of the entire television series. How can anyone be so disrespectful when they have so much. Or is that it... they have so much, the need nothing else so they 'have the right' to look down on the rest of us. Someone ought to take them to the sweatshops in Asia or the shanty towns of Africa. But then, if you're that stuck-up, would you be moved by the sight of starving children lying in gutters with shit and flies? Probably not.

 

On a more pathetic note. I miss, want (!) and wholeheartedly love David. Dammit.

Why is it that doctors all have that same smug look? The one that says 'I'm better than you and you know it'. I hate it. There is only one doctor who does not have that look - Dr Caley. He doesn't need it. Every other doctor does. I saw two separate doctors today. Dr Wilson - a fat, toad-like woman who speaks in a monotone and appears to have no personality. I went to have a contraceptive implant inserted and she was to do this. Dear god, that woman is flat! I've met door handles with more personality that her. The otherwas Dr Ferguson - a small, Irish-sounding psychiatrist with an unnerving habit of asking what turns out to be a poorly phrased question and stares at you while you allow your brain to grasp that he'd just asked a question (poor phrased as it was) and is requiring an answer. The staring is extremely off-putting. Both have that look in common. I have noticed that quite a lot of pharmacists have also perfected it. I don't like it one bit. These people make me feel small and awkward and these feelings exacerbate my extreme clumsiness.

 

For these reasons I have decided to declare a war on doctors (minus Dr Caley) - especially psychiatrists. I escpecially HATE psychiatrists. The way they act like they know me but in reality have no clue and I'm not going to help them. Dammit.

Someone sent an 'agony aunt' letter to me, the sixth form agony aunt for the forthcoming Student Voice magazine.

 

'My friends are emos, like me, and they have started to cut themselves to fit in with the Emo philosophy. They are doing it to rebel against their parents. What do you think I should do?'

 

My reply:

People like your friends seem to be are making a mockery (for want of a better word) of those who cut for a genuine reason. Self-harm is a serious pscyhological issue, not something you do for fun or to rebel. If you want to rebel then go out and get pissed or stoned. I am speaking as a self-harmer, as if you hadn't noticed. It became my coping method while I was in a junior psych unit because I had no other way. It REALLY F*CKING ANNOYS me to know that people like your friends are basically mocking what became a very real and very dangerous experience for me and millions of other people worldwide. If they actually sat down and tried to convince themselves that their internal pain was so great it HAD to be balanced out with a similar external pain do you think they could do it? No, neither do I. Stupid little emo children who need to grow up and stop acting like complete tw*ts and get a grip on reality before it jumps up and smacks them in the face. As for rebelling against their parents... scare the sh*t out of them more like! I don't think there are many (good) parents out there who wouldn't be absolutely distraught at the fact that their child felt the need to carve into themselves for relief. Or pleasure? Why you would use this as a weapon against your parents is even more of a stunner. My advice? Tell them to get their heads out of their arses and find a les pathetic and 'emo-typical' way of rebelling.

I have a hairline fracture in my wrist. It hurts like hell, has swollen up and is going black. Why me!

No french lesson this afternoon as the teachers are on a trip. After finishing the work, our group of 7 sat around and gambled with Haribo sweeties at Poker until Curlytop suggested I try waxing my legs. Don't ask. I don't know how we got onto the topic and I admitted I'd never tried it. She produced a packet of wax strips from her bag, rolled up my jeans and stuck it on. Not too bad. Rip! AAAARRGG. Fuck! The idea of wax strips is they aren't really hot when you use them and they are good for short hairs in between proper waxes. My hair was growing nicely, waiting to be removed in the bath the sane way, with a razor. It was entirely ripped from my shin. Good god! I am surprised my shriek didn't alert one of the German teachers upstairs. How do we get into these situations?

 

In a way, for these days, I will miss school.