nobody said it was easy

I get in, see Est to her door with an emotional 'night, marra' and head upstairs, listening to people playing Frisbee outside. Knock on Kate's door first, it's ajar but there's no answer. Where is she? And where are our Argentinian guests? I hear music playing through someone's door and stop to listen, try and figure what it is and perhaps why they're playing it so late.

The kitchen then, perhaps some kind of snack. No milk, that went off. No carrot, that went off too. There's some salad but it's in a glass bowl and I don't trust myself to pick it up. Anyway, I went to the gym earlier and I want something real to eat.

I remember the ice cream. Sainsbury's ice cream. No bowl. Hmm. Bowl one, the white china one Kate bought me after breaking my old ones is in my room, covered in old sauce. Bowl two, the glass one that's actually for mixing things in, is in the fridge full of salad. For reasons completely and utterly beyond me, I choose to eat my raspberry ripple out of the bulb of a wine glass.

I steal someone's teaspoon, because it just seems right to, and vow to wash it up before they notice. Opening the cupboards, I find the mini doughnuts that I had to sneak into the trolley at the supermarket. Couple of them will do nicely.

I switch the light off with my elbow, hands full, and head back to my room, which is boiling hot because I don't know how to work the radiator and a complete tip because I'm lazy.

I guess I'm trying to divert your attention away from how I really feel, because I haven't figured out how that is yet.

In my messy room, by my keyboard, is a half-drunk glass of wine, because these days there always is. There's a couple of bottles of tonic water, like always, some pills and nail polish, that same Chinese takeaway box that was there last time I did an inventory of my desk.

I guess I'm starting to cope. I guess I have nothing to worry about. But. My skin won't stop crawling. The urge to kick and scream, the urge to make things worse. Shells will always sound like the sea and I will always live with this feeling. This, I guess, is just the way I am.

I don't know what I want. There's always this half-glass of wine on my desk; I know enough to pour it but I never seem to finish.