Skin.

Sometimes I wonder why a life as great as this one was wasted on someone like me. I'm prone to depression, and no matter what I'm doing and where I am I always want more. I've got a beautiful family, great friends, enough money to get by, three passports, all my limbs, talent in a few of the artsy areas, a job, I'm living in London.... all I've ever wanted was someone to hold me and tell me they love me and everything will be alright. And I got that. I know in my heart I had the person who would do that for me. But I didn't want him. I've always treated nice guys badly. It's awful, they don't deserve it, I'm sure they could make me happy if I gave them the chance. But instead, I play with them, knowing I want a certain guy, the only one I've really wanted for years.
Someone asked me if I wanted to talk today. Well rather, he said if I needed to talk, I could talk to him. What a fantastic person. I feel that is one of the first times anyone had asked me that since I moved to England. The English don't seem to have emotions. Whereas regretfully, mine are pretty transparent. So to be asked if I wanted to talk was a big thing. But I could never do it. I wouldn't want to waste James' time with talk of me. There is one way I've changed since I moved here- I've realized my own insignificance.
Every time I'm upset, sad or angry, it has to do with people. People here, people home- trying to make everyone happy at once, people sabotaging my good efforts, and ruining things between me and people I care about. People are cold, and cruel. I want to move to an island somewhere and lose contact with everyone I know. I couldn't do it to my mum, but I think it'd be good for me. Perhaps when I get back from the states I'll at least start by attempting to find a studio flat- I want my own space, to helpt control my own destiny. In January I have two months I could go to Jamaica and be poor. That sounds wonderful right now.