The fight

Currently I feel this indifference, this sense of doing nothing, that I have nothing to do, nothing to fight for, nothing to strive for, no motivation, I don't want to do anything, I'm a little hungry, but I dont' want to go and eat.

What do I do?

Shall I go home for the weekend?

Why not, I'll book the ticket....

Antonia is going to London this weekend, so I though I will go too.

At least that is some motivation...but now I feel indifferent about going, again!

Fuck it, WE ARE GOING! (by we, I mean I)

My friends

The one thing I noticed when I was reading The Bell Jar was how the title character's decline was obvious to everyone but oblivious to her.

Recently I have been feeling more 'depressed', but let me state that it is in a context where my mood and attitude is getting generally better. I see it in a different way now, I think.

I think that I have lost my friends.

I ask: who are actually my friends?

|I have distanced myself from people over the past few months. I guess I'm ashamed, in other ways, I guess that I am not willing. The past few days have been very bad, I have had low motivation and not been up to doing much. Today, I spend the day doing folders and organising my correspondences, that took a couple of hours out.

I feel like a non-person sometimes. I feel lost.

Im trying so hard to be positive, but I feel the wool of past dispositions and moods slowly going over my eyes. I'm trying to fight. In some ways, I feel it is easier to go on my own thatn with anyone else. People have flaws and their flaws impose on me when they try to help, their advice is tattered and stained with their background and experiences, this can help, but other tiems it cannot.

Marie, I think about her less and less. I masturbated over her last night and then I cried. I thought that if I see her as a sexual object, if I see everyone as just a thing, a distant object and independent from my own existence

Flaws

No one likes being told what their flaws are, no one likes criticism. I am no different. It upsets me to be criticised, however, I think sometimes a fair point must be made and I am at fault and I must improve in some way.

My fault is that I find it difficult to accept criticism, my fault is trying to be the centre of attention at times.

Other times, however, I don't want anyone to pay attention to me. Sometimes I fall into an old habit, of behaving in such a show-off way that calls attention to me. I suppose that this is my flaw.

I am an attention-seeker. That's my flaw.

Hollowing

I think that the battle never ends, but what makes a person is how they fight.

Today I have still not received a response.

I'm getting scared.

I want to know what they have decided, I need to know...

Was it my fault?

A question that came to my mind today: was it my fault of what happened to Marie and me?

Did I make my own situation? Should I have acted differently?

I miss not her, but what she represented to me.

Often, men expose a kind of misogyny, a mistrust of women, a "don't put pussy on a pedestal" attitude. It is tempting to feel that way. But it seems men might have this attitude more out of hurt than hatred.I feel that I may never ever feel attached or truly connected with someone In the way htat I can confide in them. I am always hiding something from someone. That is a lonely life.

A further point about misogyny. I have felt that recently, I tried to look at women as object and it failed terribly for two reasons, to see things as objects for consumption cheapens me as a glutton. It cheapens me by greed and the perception of all things as commodities, it would be the same if I treated music in the same way, not as elevated art, but as fun consumption, emotional catharsis.

A feeling

I got a bad feeling that I might not get a PhD...

I am really scared.

Also, I am not doing very much at the moment in my life while I am waiting. I really should do something, get a job or something, I don't know.

I don't want a job, but on the other hand, I'm not really in a position to complain.

I feel increasingly these days that I am becoming a burden on people, on Antonia, on my parents, my brother doesn't like me applying for a PhD. My parents don't approve, my mum talks as if I will fail and she already knows the result of my application.

I'm glad antonia is supporting me in some way, it is getting hard though. My heart feels heavy as I am waiting.

I am quite low in motivation at the moment. Stuck between hoping and despairing, yet experiencing neither. It is, quite simply, limbo.

Limbo nearly at an end

Will I be saved or damned?

I sent my PhD application a week ago. I emailed the faculty a couple of days ago to ask if they recieved my application, and they have. Currently, the department is deciding my fate.

I'm scared.

This means everything to me. Please let this dream happen, please God, in desparation I believe. I will learn from my mistakes, and I will improve myself. Please let me do this.

Fat

Antonia told me I have a belly again

My dad told me I have put on weight

The weighing scales say that i'm up and down, up more often than down, overall a stabilising of my weight

I have been feeling more stable recently, not purging, and cooking a lot.

I have been experimenting with things like cheese, spam, mince, desert, flour, garlic crushing, spam, onions, honey etc.

I deem all of the above a contributing factor:

My strategy that i project to lose weight:

1. Eat less
2. Eat properly
3. Excercise
4. Don't purge
5. Know your limits, the right portions.

Rejection

One thing that makes me feel down:

I resigned from the last university committee I was involved with. It was in some respects the last straw on the camel's back leaving that committee.

Now that I'm off it, I feel strange.

Lonely
Like I am a no one
Unimportant
Unnecessary
Unwanted
Stupid
Unpopular
Not liked
Rejected
Not good enough

The challenge of my days is to give those feelings no oxygen, fuel it with nothing, and maybe it will die away. Overcome those feelings, even realities.

If I push hard against reality hard enough, and what people think of me, I might change the world with my determination, effort and action.

It's hard, but I'm willing to do it, it is unrealised but I will fight on.

Antonia makes me say to myself: I am perfect, whole and complete. Saying things enough makes me believe it.


I am a PhD student.
I deserve it.

Escape

For Marie, fantasy is important to her. She is involved in this medieval reenactment thing.

I guess I should tell you some things that I have heard about Marie recently:

1. She has dropped out of uni, and the city of our university.
2. She has left the country and gone back home
3. She came back for a while to the UK and meet some uni friends
4. She valorises this one guy, Chet, blonde, medium length hair, I guess she thinks that he's cute, she drew apicture of him on facebook. She probably loves him.
5. She doesn't talk to me anymore.

Marie is a sore, forgotten memory. I think we are allowed to have sore memories in our lives. Antonia, for instance, has had an abortion. She feels gravely sad about the baby that could have been.

I think sore memories are acceptable, but what is important is to leave them behind in the past and pay no more attention to them. This seems wrong to me in some way.

Three cans of fosters...

..., and sitting at home, that is, my parental home, makes me feel a nice sense of numbeness.

I think I was infantilised around Marie, emotionally, stuck in a place I thought she wanted me, I thought she would like me if I was in that place.

I haven't purged in ages.

By the way, it is a 2 year anniversary of my incarceration. I had sex with a woman, my girlfriend, tender intimate passion, firey rage of lust. Antonia told me that I made her bleed from all the sex. I haven't given much thought to what happened 2 years ago.

In some ways, I think that gives me power over it. The power over my mind, over my thoughts. I'm not thinking about it anymore. The more energy and thought I put into feeling depressed and thinking about feeling depressed and how difficult things are, it makes it harder.

Things are difficult, I know because I'm living it. I'm going to push through, going to push hard.

I'm afraid I'm going to have a breakdown if something goes wrong. I must learn that I am always built up and destroyed again.

My ego as well. I've suffered a knock, and I am finding the challenge of finding myself again. THis week I applied for a PhD, I sent of the letter finally that the referees have sorted out their letter. One guy told me that supervision was not guaranteed, another said I was a weak candidate.

I have a hurdle to jump, and a leap of faith that I will get in. I'm scared.

I have to go cos my dad just came in from his night shift...might sign on my other laptop!

Progress

In a state of limbo, I try to fight on with my life and progress to my goals and seek contentment (or at most, escape despair.

1. I have deleted Marie from my MSN contacts list
2. I have emailed (being forward), my MA supervisor about my reference letter
3. I have been doing domestic tasks today: cleaning up my room, clothes, the sperm on the wall, paying cheques for bills.

Progress is moving on, its not easy, but it must be done. I don't want to be a sorry memory or a forgettable person. I must fight for my very existence and importance. That's what makes me special, that I must persevere.

Whoah....

I found some dodgy pictures on the internet of Marie.

This was very distressing for me.

I think that now she is a distant person, nay, an object.

I  feel so distressed, I no longer see her as a person, but a distant thing. The person I was closest too has now been cut off.

Those pictures are quite arousing, I think I'm going to masturbate over them. In a way, by masturbating over her, and seeing her just as an object, I feel more alone, and yet, more distant from her. I think I need to have emotional distance to the idea of her. It will be a good wank...

...and I will be fundamentally alone

Time Capsule/Special box

I keep a box of some very sentimental items; I've kept it probably since before I went to university. The box has changed, and so have the things within it, but the sentimentality is still there. As long as I have the box, so do I have my memories and the meaning it has. If I lost it, so too would the meaning be lost. No matter how I hide it or how much I ignore it, it will always be there, and so long as it is, I will always have those things.

Things it contains:

A cork, from the bottle of wine that I had on the night that I lost my virginity (Rioja)
A note from my first counsellor (when she left)
My watch (very sentimental item)
Badges from school