Combined times of loveliness and despair.

Despairing because I'm not sure that what I've always wanted is what I really want.

Rada workshop today; and I didn't do it as best I could, it didn't bring out the best in me and I couldn't stand for two hours. Am I not cut out to be an actress, am I not enthusiastic enough?

I can't tell whether she liked me or not. She knew me. She knew she'd rejected me I think. I hate that I'm not an honest person.

But I don't want to back out on all the things I thought I'd want, so... if I want to be a politician or a barrister or a foreign correspondent, I still can. If I want to be a journalist and change the world, I still can.

There are all these jobs... arts marketing. Bee is going into arts marketing, or academia, and I hate that I'm so jealous of her and my other friend that are doing so well. I'm a horrible person. I hate other people being happy, even when I like them.

It's just I can't see anything good about me.

Bee said today that I see something good in wherever I am. I think that about her. She's so lovely, and I am jealous but I'm aware.

Why haven't I got talent or intelligence? Why can't I even make a simple decision? Why do I feel like I'm utterly pointless and I can't function, please help me.

That's what I wanted to say to her this weekend. Everyone's got their opinion on what I should do and it seems so much better than my own, better thought out, better argued, with more conviction but I can't help feeling not right.

Maybe it's my own stupid contrary attitude.

I am stupid and stupid and horrible and I'm getting to detest myself. I just wish I was better. I wish I was direct like Bee and genuine like JD and clever like Bovine and relaxed like GeniusC and talented like Lady Macbeth.

And I hate myself for feeling jealous of all of them but I've really got no choice when I've got nothing for them whatsoever. I wonder what they're all doing wanting to hang about with such a silly inconsequential person. I suppose I'm not intimidating. I'm malleable. I'm funny and laughable. I'm a stop gap for when you haven't got anything else to do, a sort of puddle. I feel crap.

I want to be brilliant and intimidating and...

something other than what I am now, someone who's always feeling that what she's feeling is wrong, someone who always feels ten steps behind and racing to catch up. Someone everyone else has to advise, because she's so likely to screw up her own life and make the wrong decision that everyone else needs to tell her to do this, do that, don't waste it, chill out, step up, earn it, pay it, don't pick, you aren't thinking, find it out, do it this way, don't eat that, drink this.

I am not happy. And all I really want is to be happy.

I desperately want to tell someone all of this, not my parents, someone I can sink into and sob onto and weep with, that will say exactly the right thing which is? I don't know.

I think of BL and her perfect shape. She's small and goes in and out, and she's so springy. I always think of her as a light person. Long hair, big eyes, heart face. She feels so safe, she feels so right, and sleeping next to her was so easy this weekend. I never wanted to leave. Silence is easy, speaking is easy, does she think that too or did she want me to sod off? I wanted to roll over and hold her and tell her it all, though she advises me too, and not always the right thing but she cares.

I just need someone to hold onto, to cling to, to adore.

She thought she loved someone and he turned out to be addicted to hash and she couldn't. He had no ambition, just floating around not doing.

And I don't think she could ever love me. She gets bored of me, I can feel it, though I'm never bored of her and I feel cosy and comfortable and she said she likes lounging around cuddling on the sofa, and that's exactly how I think of her.

Maybe she thinks I'm silly and reckless and hates that I take MDMA on every odd occasion. I went out this weekend and I don't know how curious she was; I told her about it, and I offered that she could come, but I knew she wouldn't want to. I'd want her to come but only if she wanted, but I didn't want her to think I'd not want her there. I'd want her anywhere. I took it and saw her the day after; she asked how I felt and I said fine, but I was hazy that day, and I had jaw ache, which always happens because of abruxia. She did the perfect thing; took me out, made me beans and tortillas, which I was sorely in need of after a vegetable deficit. There and then I wanted to wrap my arms round her comfortable little shape and say, how did you know you brilliant thing? How did you know how I was feeling and what I needed? But there's every chance she didn't and was just some sort of coincidental selfish.

I don't offer her anything. I don't offer anyone anything except worry. I feel useless.