12th March 1995 Oo, Time Travel - Spooky

Me in the summer of 1992 - close to suicide a thousand times a day; 270lbs; unemployed; locked in my room; lots of friends; in a 'happy enough' 7 year relationship; angry; hopeless; lost.


Me now - fairly happy; 300lbs; unemployed again; alone; freshly dumped from a 9 year relationship.


In my head it all feels sorted. I'm already slim again in my head. It's all sorted except the expression of it, the details. I just need to empty everything out and wait. I'm still fat, but that's just timing. No-one believes me yet, they still see the fat. This time next year they'll see how I feel now because my body will have caught up with my mind. Light from a troubled star. It looks fiery and stormy all ablaze, but now, there, it's calm and cool.





I always used to think wishing to be happy was a wasted wish. Being rich or beautiful would make me happy anyway, so why not wish for that. I didn't get that being happy would also make me happy. And rich and beautiful *might* not.


I was slim, I was very attractive, I had money, I was bright, I was loved by the man I wanted to be loved by, I had everything I was looking for and cocked it all up because I spent all my time wishing I was happy.


It started to change when I heard this news report on the radio about a young man who had died after taking ecstasy and my first, instinctive reaction was "lucky bastard" and I sort of revelled in having had that reaction too. Shocked delight. When I thought about it -he might not have wanted to die. I'd assumed everybody did, really.


It began to seem odd to me that I'd assumed that so certainly. The next day I spent all day on my bed listening to music, "Coma" a lot, crying for my life, planning to kill myself over and over again. Out of nowhere a twinge of sadness that it had to be this way, it was so inevitable. What kept other people alive? How did they deal with these feelings? Not those who had these feelings, I was thinking of those who actually didn't, or so it turns out.


Is it possible for this to be different? Was depression reality, or just an option? Am I wrong? Could I be someone different? What would that be like? Curiosity. If it didn't lead to a perfect life I could always kill myself on another day.