7:37 p.m.
/
03 January, 2004

My grandad's funeral is on the 16th, though that is just a preliminary date, because his brain is in Edinburgh. I laughed when I heard that... sick sense of humour, I guess.

I found out today that sacchrine causes cancer. I live on the stuff. I skip meals and drink shitty cancer-giving crap instead. Last night I dreamt I dying from ovarian cancer. I have issues... sooooo many issues.

So, anyway, I'm going home on Monday, or to my other house anyway. Back to a land of loud music playing til 5 am and desperately searching the house for food at sunrise. And never having any milk for cereal. I love that place to bits.

I watched The Hours again today. I always forget until I see it how much I empathise with those characters. If I ever had to choose a story which was closest to the story of my life, it would be that. That, or The Bell Jar. Both transmit the kind of airless quality that I can only see when I'm well and concentrate really hard, and that's all I can see when I'm crazy. I recognise my family in the peripheral characters. I remember resenting them so much for worrying, for forcing me to observe the lines of anxiety in their faces. I hated them for preventing me from doing the one thing that I thought would make it all stop. They imprisoned me with their fears.

They still do it sometimes. I'll be halfway through telling a really funny story, or talking about something really cool that I plan to do, and their eyes give me this coded message that says: 'We'll always be watching you, because at any moment... you know what could happen.' Then the story isn't so funny anymore, or the idea as exciting. Suddenly I'm analysing all my thoughts, sifting through a thousand images for a sign, a symptom. And blaming them for reminding me.

The worst part is that I know I'm the sanest one of them all.