Nothing about my life seemed worthy of art or literature or even of just plain life. It seemed too stupid, too girlish, too middle-class.
I get this over-whelming feeling that I don't deserve to feel like this. Not that I'm too good for it; I've just re-read that and its sounds awful, so sort of arrogant. But I don't mean it like that, I mean it feels to me as though it's too good for me. That I don't deserve to be this stupid, that other people deserve it more. Oh it sounds stupid & nothing like I mean it.
I was quite happy today for a few hours. I went shopping. I bought a lovely pink bag - - with sequins...- - and er those plasticcy bracelets that people used to call shag bands (gah! scary name) and a big bangle like the £60 we saw in Liberty's. I kept hoping I'd inadvertantly see them, purely so I could see them all happy & be alright with it. So I could tell myself that I was fine. I admitted to ____ that I wasn't. It was surprisingly easy. I don't know how to stop it. Because stopping it is what's going to make things better. At least that's what I hope.