it cannot be OK

To feel like this, haunted, uneasy, so tired when I'm surrounded by love and help and people who will do anything to be good friends.

I have no right to be this tired. Crying so much. I don't fit in, never have but people are kind, they try so hard to help me, and now I look like I fit in, act like it, I am a perfect performer and I look like the friendly face of whatever is needed right now.

Random images in my head, beginnings of creation, we begin again, I begin again. I can't bear anything, I have no clue about what's wrong with me.

I suspect this is depression, long term cyclical, triggered by stress. Why am I here then? Why not start a random blog, be out there be nowhere, anonymous. Perhaps I will. But more I feel it is time to start with the She-Wolf's story. Sometime. A genuine creature, though she doesn't come from Darlington, she just likes the word.

This is a good place to be true to myself if I can bear it. No-one knows me, people who hear me hear by chance. Like the random howling of something at the moon, a dog, a coyote, a wolf. This will be where she ran when she ran. Make no mistake, she did run in the end.

A leaking roof

it’s all wrong, all wrong, this sense I have, a natural sense of dying.

Yes, I think there’s some kind of death in me. I don’t know how to translate it to the man in my life, my gentle and practical partner, I feel he’ll try at best, but he can’t understand. Because there is nothing to understand. I may well be suffering from long term depression, I know that. I don’t want to take pills for it. I want to just not feel it, to remember what it was like to be happy.

There’s something I need to do.

I need to stop the work I do. It’s necessary I think. Or maybe I am indulging myself. But I think it is something I must just stop doing. And I don’t know how to, because I have to pay my bills. I think I must take a break. He doesn’t want me to, he doesn’t see why this is an issue. I am good at what I do. But I have been betrayed by my beliefs, and be they childish illusions or not, I have to accept that this window is cracked. The crack will only get worse. Doesn't mean I can't see through it. But eventually it will break. I should slough my skin of these things, go away, do something else. I need a break very badly, a permanent break perhaps, I must get out.

And I am too tired to get out. I can’t even make an appointment at the doctor’s. I cry all the time, phone the samaritans twice a week, everything depresses me, everything floors me.

I must stop before I break down. But he won’t understand it, and I...I really know what I should do. I should go to the doctors, get signed off for depression, stay away for a month and then come back. I can’t do that. I must keep working. But I am falling to pieces.

If I am falling to pieces, how come I have just been a driving force for this little event? I have the strength for that, what's wrong with me now?

Every morning I wake up too early. I write a few breezy emails and do stuff. Then the energy begins to drain and by now, right around now, I fall into disrepair. I find myself looking at websites about suicide. Stupid.

He can't understand this, good and temperate though he is, he can't understand why I want to go. I want to throw myself across the see and just keep travelling til I come to a place where no-one knows me, I want to forget and be forgotten, I want to take this stupid mobile phone and throw it into the sea behind me, and then, when the loneliness gets too much...

I don't know what you do when the loneliness gets too much. Find another voice I suppose.

I must sort this out. This is not OK.