Words

The Roman philosopher Seneca wrote

I will not relinquish old age if it leaves my better part intact. But if it begins to shake my mind, if it destroys my faculties one by one, if it leaves me not life but breath, I will depart from the putrid or the tottering edifice. If I know that I must suffer without hope or relief I will depart not through fear of the pain itself but because it prevents all for which I would live.


Anne Langbein was my friend. She was witty, poetic, wise, and affectionate; she made the BEST shortbread in the world, had a beautiful rose garden and a conservatory full of healthy, verdant tropical plants of a thousand shades. She had two lovely and devoted grown daughters who were both doing well in their personal and professional lives, and who each had great kids who knew that they were loved. Anne was a potter, and made some gorgeous bowls and urns. She gave me one, and it's one of my most precious possessions.

I met Anne when I was working as a care-giver for Presbyterian Support Services in Wellington. For some clients I helped with personal care such as showering, dressing, preparing and helping with dinner, for others I did housework, grocery shopping and the like. Anne was one of the latter, I collected her groceries every week, did the ironing, swept and mopped the floors, did the dishes and cleaned the bathroom. She was a hard task-master, she was so fussy about me getting the ironing right, making me redo the sheets, towels and handkerchiefs over and over again til I had them perfect, and I did it without so much as a groan even though I thought ironing them as a bit silly, I would have done anything for her.

Anne had Motor Neuron Disease, and couldn't do these things for herself anymore. I pray that no one reading this ever gets Motor Neuron, or anything similar, it was horrible to see her slowly losing the ability to write, to water her plants, to speak, even to swallow. She was so distressed at having to give up her gardening and pottery, it broke my heart. I'm in tears writing this now, she was so brave, and so resolutely cheerful for the sake of the people around her. She'll always be one of my personal heroes, I'll always remember her and I'll always be grateful for the time I had with her.

Anne was tortured by the disease, as everything she loved doing slipped away from her, and she had to rely on others for even the most basic things like using the toilet, lifting a glass of water to her mouth and closing her mouth so that she could swallow, after having been fiercely independent and self-sacrificing her whole life. She tried to commit suicide several times but was physically unable to do it, she asked her daughters to help her when it became to much to bear, but of course they couldn't because of the legal repercussions and the psychological trauma this would bring, and Anne knew this and felt utterly wretched that she'd put them in that position. Eventually, mercifully, she died unaided, but she and her family went through years of hell first, needlessly, because our society prohibits assisted suicide and treats as criminals those who out of compassion help others to die.

For the funeral, Anne's family made all of the dishes that she was known for, faithfully following her carefully handwritten recipes, the pride of place going to the shortbread, which no one else could ever make exactly right. They each stood up that sunny afternoon in her beautifully-tended rose garden and talked about how she used to make them laugh, reciting her funny little housework rhymes and her witticisms, sharing their most treasured memories of an absolutely wonderful and unique woman, a woman who went out of her way to help others, who never wanted to be a burden on anyone, who made everyone she met feel special. I couldn't help thinking that even though she couldn't say a word by the end, she let us see her soul. I have never felt as honoured to be part of someone's life.

I miss you, Anne. Thank you for everything you did, for being strong, for caring so much. I wish it had been easier for you.


Kill a fly in Spring
And you've done a splendid thing,
Kill one in July
And you've only killed one fly.

- Anne

Weep, Weep For Future Generations...

Here's a short list of some of my favourite quotes from the atrociously spelt and narrated Harry Potter fan-fic 'My Immortal' by Tara 'Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.' You can find the full hilarious story at http://myimmortalrehost.webs.com/chapters122.htm Just for a bit of context, Ebony/Enoby/Eboby is a vampire goth in Slytherin House at Hogwarts, her bisexual vampire goth boyfriend is Draco/Drak/Darko Malfoy, Harry Potter has changed his name to Vampire and... yes, he's a bisexual vampire goth... noticing a trend? A good third of the story is actually incredibly detailed descriptions of vitually indistinguishable black outfits and identical emo concerts, there's sex, drugs, murder and bad grammar. My Immortal also has perhaps the biggest fanbase of any internet fan-fic - nobody can quite decide if it's serious or a vicious parody. So without further ado (and without any editing)....

Dumbledore: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!"

Snake and Loopin were in da middle of da empty hall, doin it, and Dobby was watching!

"STOP IT NOW YOU HORNY SIMPLETONS!" shouted Professor McGoggle who was watching us and so was everyone else.

"I MAY BE A HOGWARTS STUDENT"" Hargirid paused angrily. "BUT I AM ALSO A SATANIST!"

"Hey bitch you look kawaii."

"The Dark Lord shall kill all of you. Then you must submit to him!!!!" Snape ejaculated menacingly. "You fucking preppy fags!" Serious shouted angrily.

"Volfemort has him bondage!"

"You fucking bustard!" yelled Draco at Vampire. "I want to shit next to her!1"

"VAMPIRE POTTER, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" I yelled.

"Why did you do such a thing, you mediocre dunces?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"YOU ARE NOT FIT TO BE THE PRINCIPAL ANY LONGER!" yelled Rumbridge. "YOU ARE TOO OLD AND YOUR ALZHEIMERS IS DANGEROUS! YOU MUST RETRY OR VOLDEMORT WILL KILL YOUR STUDENTS!"

"CUM NOW!1!" Preacher McGongel yielded. We did guiltily.

"Suddenly an idea I had. I clozd my eyes and using my vampire powers I sent a telepathetic massage to Drako and Vampire so they would destruct Snape."

"THE BARK LORD IS PLANNING TO KILL THE STUDENTS!" yelled Cornelia Fudge.

"Crosio!" I shited pointing my wound. Snoop scremed and started running around da room screming.

"OMFS, letz have a groop kutting session!11" said Profesor Trevolry.

A chapter after Loopin "masticates" outside of Enoby's window, Tara took a second stab at it: "You saved me from getting a Paris Hilton p- video made from your shower scene and being vued by Snap and Loopin." Who MASTABATED (c is dat speld rong) to it he added silently.

"Abra Kedavra!" he yelled at Snape and Loopin pointing his womb.

"Noooooo!11" she screamed. All the preps in da theater screamed but everyone else crapped koz Satan and I loked so cute 2gether.

I smelled happily.

"Hey haz aneone fuking seen Draco?" I asked gothikally.
"No Draco told me he wood be watching Hoes of Wax." said Profesor Trevolry.

Dracola used to be called Navel but it tuned out dat he was kidnapped at birth and his real family were vampires. They dyed in a car crash.

"Rid my sight you despicable preps!"

Snoop laughed meanly. He polled down his pants. I gasped- there was a Dork Mark on his you-know-wut!11!

"But it was to late. I knew what I herd. I ran to the bathroom angrily, cring. Draco banged on the door. I whipped and whepped as my blody eyeliner streammed down my cheeks and made cool tears down my feces like Benji in the video for Girls and Bois (raven that is soo our video!). I TOOOK OUT A CIGARETE END STARTED TO smoke pot."

"I laffed statistically."

"We went sexily to Potionz class. But Snap wasn't there. Instead there was…………………………………………Cornelio Fuck!11111"

"“OMFG!!! Im back in Tim again!!!!111” I screamed loudly."
"“Oh my fukking god!!!! Voldimort! Voldimort!” screamed Hedwig as his glock touched Voldemort’s."

"then suddenlyn………………. the floor opened. “OMFG NO I SCEAMED AS I FEEL DOWN. everyone looked At ME weirdly.”"

Danny's Angry Letter

[Submitted to CHAFF and published 12th October 09]

Leah was smart, beautiful, hilarious, cheeky, warm, friendly, generous, outgoing, popular and passionate. She was also gay, and very recently she committed suicide. Her community is devastated, we miss her terribly, and we’re struggling to come to grips with what happened, searching for answers to heal our broken hearts and finding few. I suspect it will be a long time before our hearts heal.

Bernie was gentle, witty, considerate, daring, charming, fun-loving and funny. He too was gay, and he killed himself a couple of months ago. His friends are still reeling from the shock, and grieving the loss.

The lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender communities in New Zealand and around the world are disproportionately represented in suicide statistics. We are more than three times as likely to commit suicide as our heterosexual peers. We live in a world with few visible role models, we often grow up always looking over our shoulders to make sure we’re not being noticed, laughed at, jeered at and threatened. We sometimes experience complete rejection from lifelong friends and from our families when we finally try living honestly and openly as ourselves, and in some towns and rural areas we have no one to share our struggles with. And sometimes, we are the victims of horrific violent assaults.

We live in a world that tells us we’re pathetic, sick, unwanted, un-thought-of, unimportant. We hear you, Girl in the Library, when you gossip with your friends and you laugh about some guy you know, calling him a ‘fucking faggot.’ We hear you, Dude on the Bus, when you laugh with your mates, saying that [insert object of humiliation here] is ‘gaay!’ You either think we’re not there, that it doesn’t matter, or worse, that those words really do mean stupid, lame, disgusting, pathetic and worthless. You don’t go around saying ‘that’s just Maori!’ or ‘He’s such a nigger,’ cos you know that hurts people. So why do it to us? Every time you say it you tell yourself, the world around you, and maybe some lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender person who might be sitting right next to you that anyone not heterosexual isn’t worth the same human decency you extend to others.

My 10 yr old cousin Reece is gentle, clever, kind, funny and cheerful, he already knows he’s gay, and his mother tells me he comes home crying from school more often than not.

So stop it. Just fucking stop it, ok?

DR

In Memoriam...

Her Name Was Leah

She was outgoing, fun, friendly, energetic, always the life of the party. She put a lot of time and energy into helping people and volunteering for things, and she was involved in everything - she DJ'ed at the bar most weekends, she was involved with two local acting groups, she played softball and soccer, was part of the medieval jousting club (yes, they exist), she wrote poetry, modelled, took photography classes -- everyone knew her. And nobody knew she was having such a hard time the last six to twelve months - she kept it to herself, and then a week ago she killed herself.

I saw her a few hours before she did it, up at the bar, and I didn't stop to ask her how she was cos I was out looking after some friends of S's from out of town and the place was noisy and full. She seemed to be in her own little world, and her hair (which was often flaming red, golden or bright pink) was black. I wish I'd said something now, anything at all to make her know that we cared. I wish I could go back to that night.

The funeral was yesterday and about two hundred people showed up. The service was 90 minutes, and was lighthearted and full of humour, just like Leah was, which made it all the harder to bear. Her family came through, which we hadn't expected seeing how they'd disowned her for being gay, and they gave some really beautiful eulogies. And her flatmates and friends had all paid for it, and it was really lovely. I was bawling my eyes out the whole time, she was always so nice to me, and so cheerful and beautiful, and it was like she was proof that you could come through even the hardest of lives with a smile on your face, but I guess none of us knew just how hard it had really been for her. We all failed her.

We held the wake at the club, and everyone was pretty shattered. I couldn't stay, I was really depressed, so S and I went for a walk, and then I went home and slept. I just feel dazed now, it's like it hasn't happened but I keep having thoughts of her lying in the coffin, and that starts me off crying all over again.

She really was so beautiful.

Loss

"Yeah... And I'm sad! But at the same time I'm really happy that something can make me feel that sad... It's like... It makes me feel alive, y'know? It makes me feel human. The only way I could feel this sad now, is if I felt somethin' really good before, so I have to take the bad with the good. So I guess what I'm feelin' is, like a beautiful sadness... I guess that sounds stupid... Besides, I'd rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy goth kid!" (image and quote courtesy of Gay Banker at http://gaybanker.blogspot.com/2009/09/philosophy-of-butters-stotch.html)

It's been a pretty horrible week for the whole community here - it's like everything has kind of fallen to pieces.

I went in to the student association yesterday to see Karl about some details for the Sexual Health Group meeting I had arranged for last night, and of course Karl shares an office with my mate Cassie, who also knew Leah. Everybody did - she was so involved and active.

Cassie was sitting there when I walked in the door - we took one look at each other and both burst into tears. It's all so unfair, and way these things always come down to family fighting and money - that's just disgusting.

The funeral is tomorrow afternoon. Cass and me joked about everyone showing up goth, or with bright pink hair, and we actually did laugh -- that kind of relieved, guilty, sad laughter -- but really it would be the most appropriate thing to do. She always did stand out, and I can't help thinking that she'd be smiling if we did and she could know it.

We Will Miss Her

Darkness - by Lord Byron

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires - and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forest were set on fire but hour by hour
They fell and faded and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl'd
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food:
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corpse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress, he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies;
They met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Wich was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and
Each other's aspects. saw, and shriek'd, and died, beheld
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon their mistress had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them.
She was the universe.

Will you just LISTEN already??

When people learn that I have a mental illness, everything I say tends to be filtered through their existing preconceptions of what the mentally ill can and cannot do.

Let's say I have an argument or an unconventional belief - however well thought out and logical, however long it's taken me to come up with it - it's inevitably seen as a sort of twisted logic, I can't possibly be right. Homosexuality or bisexuality? It's because I'm ill. Polyamory? It's because my illness has distorted or warped my views on love and trust. The right to die? That's my depression talking.

People confuse causation with correlation. My bisexuality doesn't cause my depression and anxiety, neither is it a result of it. Polyamory is not a symptom of mental dysfunction, it's a position I take based on my understandings of human biology and psychology, it simply makes more sense to me than compulsory monogamy. I would change my opinion on it if I found evidence to the contrary. And my stance on the right to end one's own life is something I have come to having witnessed first-hand the misery and despair that failing health often brings. I strongly believe in human dignity, that people should be given the choice to take control of this one last aspect of their lives and that their loved ones should be free to assist them (or not). It’s respect for humanity - not weariness of it - that brings me to this conclusion.

Sure, when I’m deeply depressed I might think of ending my life, and sometimes these depressions last for weeks at a time. But that impulse is coming from a different place than my intellectual stand on the right to die. If I were someone else with the authority to grant permission for Danny’s death, I would refuse it, because I understand that Danny is not capable of making a rational choice at those times.

I think other people’s confusion of causation and correlation with regard to my unconventional thoughts is largely due to their simply not knowing enough about mental illnesses and the people who are affected by them. It’s assumed that my problem with depression and anxiety affects me all the time, people often fail to understand that I have significant periods of lucidity that outlast the periods of depression. In those periods, I have ample time in which to think rationally and clearly, and to reflect on whether my beliefs and understandings are the product of my illness or whether they are actually valid conclusions.

Yes, I probably do have experiences in my life that make me more likely to hold some of the opinions I do and feel the things I feel, who doesn’t? But I get frustrated with people thinking that I am incapable of thinking critically and discerning truth, that I am blind to my own condition and to the thought processes of ‘normal’ people. I think if anything my lapses into illness force me to be more critical, particularly of my own thought processes. I can’t take anything for granted.

I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that you can’t attribute any observable aspect of my being to another, as such, at least not without a fair bit of investigation. My mental illness is not a symptom of my polyamory, bisexuality or beliefs about death, neither does it cause any of these. It is another facet of me, it may have developed alongside some of these ideas and beliefs as a result of quite unrelated circumstances, and perhaps the marginality of my positions on these issues makes me more likely than most to experience mental illness, but you cannot attribute one to the other. Evidence from studies of other individuals and groups with these beliefs and conclusions exist, and they simply don’t support a causative hypothesis.

November 17 2008

Seven years.

I've been a self-admitted out homo for seven years today. And right now, I don't see anything to celebrate in that.

Being honest with myself and others - that was what it was all about. I believed so strongly that truth was the most important thing in life, that honesty was a force to be reckoned with. I thought I would change what 'gay' meant in New Zealand, I would reconcile homosexuality with faith and spirituality. I would prove that it was possible to be both Christian and gay. I guess I was hoping to change Christianity too.

But I couldn't do it, could I? Trying to make sense of the Bible's stance on homosexuality, I could come to no other conclusion but that the Biblical writers didn't know what they were talking about, and that actually, the truth wasn't really so hard to see. The Biblical writers were just bigots, pure and simple.

It didn't stop there though. I found I could not be selective about what I took from the Bible, it was either all inspired or none of it was. I discarded Christianity, and it was one of the most painful things I've ever had to do. I felt robbed of the world I had invested so much of my life in, my whole purpose and meaning. I guess I've been grieving ever since.

Certainly no 'family,' bological or otherwise, has lived up to the love and community I experienced with the Church of Christ. With my spirituality in tatters, I threw myself into the gay community, hoping to find the same sense of belonging. I didn't find it - I was largely ignored because I was neither rich enough or pretty enough.

But I didn't give up on the gay community, again, I sought to reform, to guide, to support and encourage. I became deeply involved in caring for and protecting queer people - I joined the Wellington Gay Helpline, helped with the Newcomers' support group for gay men, campaigned for gay rights with the Civil Union Bill and wrote to newspapers, even contributing regular articles for Deviant, the weekly gay page in the Massey Student newspaper.

Maybe I got so involved in supporting the queer community because I myself was in need of that support. I always seem to be outside the norm, even within the queer community. My committment to honesty has seen me try to find responsible alternatives to the world of nominal monogamy, first looking at open relationships, then polyamory. I've renamed my sexual and gender identity to have more integrity with who I am, from gay to bisexual to queer, and now genderqueer or possibly even transgender. And it seems that my committment to honesty and integrity actually hurts me more than it helps.

I'm lonely. I am so overwhelmingly, desperately lonley that I spent last night, before this anniversary, contemplating suicide, and actually seeking advice on how to go about it. This isn't a new thing either, most of this year I've felt completely alone, utterly hopeless. What good is polyamory if nobody will love you in return? Why be open about your capacity to love multiple people if not even one person will hold your hand?

And this is the great irony of my life. I've constructed my whole abult life around promoting love and letting people be sexual in whatever way is most true for them, and yet I personally hate my romantic and sexual impulses. I want to mutilate my genitals more than what my parents already have by circumcising me, I want to tear at and scar my body to hide the physical scars left by my ambivalence toward food ands exercise, to hide my ugliness. I want to take apill to forever erase my passions, but more tah that I just want to leave the world I can never be part of - I want to just die.

Because this is me, I'm an all or nothing sort of person. If I can't love you, and that person, and that one, then I want to love no one. If nobody wants to have sex with me, I want to be completely invisible and blind, so that I see no one and no one sees me. I either can't stop eating or I don't eat at all.

Why am I talking about this? Why haven't I just swallowed a bottle of bleach or slit my wrists?

Because that's also who I am - I'm scared. I'm not scared of what's on the Other Side, because I no longer believe there is one. Death is just a blessed release, the end, the light going out. But I'm scared of getting it wrong, of failing and ending up crippled or incarcerated. I'm scared of the pain. I wish someone would do this with me, or for me.

I await oblivion.

I want to PAY someone to bash my skull in with a crowbar... any takers??

I want to kill myself.

My flatmate has a new boyfriend, who's a head nurse at Welly hospital, and drives up here to see him every week. It's pretty rotten of me to be unhappy that my flatmate's happy, but, well, I am. Also, Hunky, one of the guys I've loved this many years now, has graduated and has a motorbike, so all's looking rosy for him, and his ex, who I also loved, is heading this way for a visit, and he hates me, even though I miss him. Lezzer #1 is torn between the ex-girlfriend and a new girl who's interested, my most recent ex seems to be reconnecting with his family and is happy enough, my other recent ex is engaged to that trollop faux-lesbian of his. The straight guy I have a crush on, and have done for ages, Mister P, ignores me, my own family is getting all close etc, and I can't because I'm just so angry with them, and I'm falling behind majorly at Massey and don't think I can make it up in two weeks... TWO WEEKS!!! That's all that's left of Semester One. I don't think I can handle another semester. I don't think I can handle being alive.

I want to die.

TAGGED!!

First, post the rules:

- Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves.

- Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules.

- At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names.

- Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.


1) The first girl I ever fell head over heels for was the biggest bitch I have ever known. She was stunning, her hair was straight and snow-white blonde (not from a bottle, either), it fell to her waist (she never wore it up) and it bounced and swayed as she walked. She was a dancer, so she moved gracefully and was incredibly slim. She was taller than me, and she had freckles across her nose. Her name was Charity, which was kind of ironic, really, because she was unrelenting in her cruelty. Not that she ever swore at me or anything like that, no she was always smiling, and her voice was like honey. Her evil power was in her unerring ability to detect what people were most insecure about and draw attention to it in front of everyone, again and again, smiling sweetly as she did so. She humiliated me all through my teenage years, by saying things like "What on earth possessed you to wear that, sweetie?" and laughing gently at my stature and... other physical attributes... in front of her friends. And I was so smitten that I stumbled over myself trying not to look silly, and making more of a laughing stock of myself in the process.

2) The last time my dad came to visit me in Wellington (a few years back now) I heard him knock at the door and immediately hid under my bed where he wouldn't see me if he looked through the window. I stayed there for nearly three hours, listening to him banging on the door and swearing, hearing him walk around the house and look in through all the windows. Why didn't I just let him in? Because he annoys the hell out of me, showing up unannounced, talking about me to my flatmates as if I wasn't there, saying what he thinks is 'wrong with' me, insulting his hosts and saying every racist, homophobic, chauvanist thing that comes into his Christ-polluted head. Don't get me wrong, he's not saying these things like an ordinary Christian would... he's ANGRY when he says them, and when he gets angry he scares me half-to-death. Ordinary Christians would be horrified, I think, to hear him talking. And he's a minister. Go figure.

3) I cannot save money for the life of me. It's not even that I spend it on stuff, when I look at my bank statement it all seems to have gone on food, rent, power etc. But there's never any left over, and it doesn't matter how much I'm getting on a weekly basis. I think I eat too much.

4) I often fall asleep fantasizing about not waking up, wondering who would find me, what they would find, how they would go about packing up my stuff and distributing it among my family and friends or disposing of it. I wonder if anyone knows me well enough to work out what sort of commemmoration or service I'd want, and who would show up.

5) I had a secret world as a kid, more in my head than anywhere in my real life exactly. It was modelled on a quiet inner-city park I'd found one time when my mum had taken my little brother and me to visit my aunt Thelma and her husband Roy. It was over their back fence, and screened off on all sides by tall trees (I think they were poplars). In the middle of it was a fallen tree trunk, it was thick, hollow, and crawling with spiders and bugs, but I sat there on it enjoying the sunshine until I heard my mum calling for me an hour or so later. Aunt Thelma moved when Roy died, and I never found the place again, but it's still there in my head, I can picture it perfectly, and I escape there whenever I just want 'me' time.

6) I always wanted to be a writer... I still do. I have, under my bed, a good 300 pages of a couple of stories I've partly written. One of the main ways I waste time instead of doing my study is by typing what I've got so far. I think I'm very good at coming up with ideas, but quite poor at taking them to their conclusion, and so I guess I'll never write a book. I think it's because on some level I feel like it's not 'real work' and it would be selfish of me to pursue it.

7) I'm really ashamed of the fact that I did dance classes as a kid... ballet, tap, contemporary, jazz... and I got high marks in the exams. I absolutely hated it, but I loved being on stage, and I knew it made my mum proud so I kept up with it until I was fourteen and was just getting hassled too much by other kids my age. I got bullied a lot for it in primary school, so all through intermediate and high school I tried to hide the fact that I had done it, but it wasn't much good. I was getting called 'faggot' 'poof' and 'queer' before I even knew what the words meant. Retrospectively, I can't help but wonder if that has something to do with who I actually turned into.

8) I once pretended to have lost my wallet and driver's license at a party at someone's house, just so I could ask the guy who lived there to look for it and get back to me. He was one of the most attractive guys I've ever met, and of course I knew he was WAAAYY out of my league but it didn't stop me from obsessing over him for months.

9) I feel like I've lived enough, in that many different places, as that many different versions of me, that the one thing I want in all the world is rest, to not have to be anyone or anything, to not have to think or care or feel anything anymore. I'm feel exhausted, worn out, "thin, like butter spread over too much bread," to use Bilbo Baggins' expression.

10) If I could crawl inside a story, it would have to be 'The Last Continent' by Terry Pratchett, or in fact any of his Rincewind stories. I'd love to be just swept away in the insanity, it would be something new, vibrant and interesting. Rincewind's world conforms to no rules, nothing has to make sense, the only certainty being that you don't piss off The Luggage, or you get eaten. 'The Last Continent' is, I think, Pratchett's most ridiculous story, and it always makes me laugh my socks off.