See, if this was two years ago, I'd have been moaning and crying in this diary these past few weeks, about the shit that is hitting fans in my home. To wit; mother and father going separate ways, family being destroyed, bitterness, hatred, bile, manipulation, crying, BAD SHIT.

However, it is not two years ago. It is now, and since the year two thousand I have been taught over and over again that opening up is bad. Very bad.

So, instead, I forget about it most of the time, try to ignore it the rest. I spend all night scouring the Interweb, reading about things that mean nothing to me; other people's diaries, things about computers, wars, america. I do this all night and then I sleep all day and try not to think about the mind-fuck my parents are subjecting both themselves and my siblings to...

I have a place in London. I move there on Monday. The contract is for twelve months, not the eight I am at university. Right now, that doesn't seem too bad; there'll be no home to come back to this time next year. There isn't one now, but I can pretend...

Or rather not. The Saturday before last, I drank vodka as if 'twere water. Grandly drunk I did get, for the first time in my life, all in an effort to try and forget about home. And it started out okay... I remember being more talkative... But then, holes appear, and I can't remember... I was talking to Amy? Blackness and lurching and hyperventilation. All I did was vomit my guts for an hour and a half and wake with it up my nose.

So I forgot what I did that night. But not what I wanted to.

Please, let it stop.

And, for the first time since starting this thing, by which I mean May 2002, I ask you to email me. Tell me who you are, what you do with your life.

Let it stop.