My mother will not stop giving me things to read. How many times have I asked her to stop? She will drive me mad. I am buried beneath a heap of unread books. I hate this feeling of unfinished business weighing me down. The burden seems only to increase. Thank God for medication and the numbness it brings. Why worry about anything? It only makes things worse. Let it be. Thy will be done. Amen. I slog through a few pages before my eyes begin to cross, pulling me down and down, into endless possibility. There I learn to fly.

The female voice can be a most soothing and healing sound. Carolyn’s near whispering concern for my well being, Cheyenne’s pleasant sing-song of parting, and Resha’s comfortingly gentle and ever so feminine presence on the phone were enough reason to go on living for another day at least. Even when all hope is lost, a woman’s voice can ease the pain. Odd, then, that I should feel such anxiety around women. Perhaps I fear other aspects of the Goddess... mocking laughter, impatience, fury, cruelty, condemnation, punishment. These are not exclusively feminine qualities, of course. From men, such behaviour is expected.

An apple from Karen, an uplifting gift from Fred, a painless needle from a skilled and gentle nurse, Colin’s antics which never fail to make me laugh... I am so thankful for these blessings. Still I feel deeply sad this morning... alone. Many people understand my pain. Many people have suffered infinitely more by comparison. Many people would give anything to have what I have. I am very lucky, really. I have so many things to be thankful for. Yet there is an underlying sadness beyond the reach of medication. It is the yearning of the fragment for the whole.

Yesterday I received an ICQ authorization request from a fifteen year old girl from Saskatchewan. I don’t feel I can authorize her. I would then be under suspicion of pedophilia. While I cannot tell a woman’s age by looking, and while I freely admit to being most attracted to younger women, I have no intention of becoming entangled with a minor. Nor is there any danger of such a thing happening for now I am terrified even to speak to the fair sex. And my ideal companion is equally afraid to approach me. How, then, will we ever be joined?

An opportunity to help another is a blessing. With every good deed a sin is expiated, merit accrues, the burden is lightened, the heart gladdened. Never miss an opportunity to come to the rescue. Offer a helping hand when somebody is in need. Poverty can take many forms. Love is the greatest gift to bestow and the greatest to receive. Be generous with love. Lavish it upon all for all are deserving. There is healing in the giving for both lover and loved. Without trust, there can be no love. And without love, there can be only withering and decay.

Who can be trusted? When you have been deceived, burned, broken, isolated, where can you turn for sanctuary? To whom? If one person is capable of cruelty, tyranny, oppression, evil, it follows that everybody must have the capacity. In reality, then, nobody can be trusted. It must be only a matter of time and circumstance before you are again betrayed. Only in solitude is safety relatively certain. But is safety worth a lifetime of fear and loneliness? Trust allows for the possibility of love as well as betrayal. It requires a leap of faith. Will you choose hope or despair?

For two days I have dreamed of women. Tonight I was awakened by a concerned female voice calling, ‘Okay, alright?’ But there was nobody there, just the cat meowing as usual. Perhaps the feline cries became the feminine voice and I awoke, startled. My subconscious is overflowing with female imagery. Are these dreams simply expressions of my unfulfilled desires? Or is there some message? Is it all symbolism or could it be more direct communication? What might the female soul, individually or as a whole, have to say to me? May I comprehend and respond appropriately, unworthy though I be.

Thanksgiving dinner with my parents was pleasant enough, though too much to eat forced me to the couch in pain after dessert. I should be thankful for the food and the company of my parents but everything feels empty and meaningless. Did I forget to take my medication? It was another night of video games and television. A little music for the first time in weeks did little to liven my spirits. I’m not sleeping well either. The temperature fluctuates wildly during the day, forcing me to use first the fan, then the heater. And the cat won’t shut up.

I must have forgotten my medication yesterday. I awoke in a state of anxiety feeling terribly depressed and oppressed, struggling to keep fear at bay. The tension in my chest and skull finally drove me to get up, take my medication, and eat. The emptiness remains. Every weekend is the same. Every night at work is the same. There is nothing to look forward to. I dream of love. But who could love me? I am unlovable. I’m dying to trust somebody, to be trusted again. But I cannot and am not. Nor can I cry. I am truly broken.

Work, though tiresome, is a blessing. I am lucky to have my job, despite all my complaining. And I love my coworkers and supervisors... even the ones who give me pain. The truth is, I am happy to be around people but I never feel good enough... fun enough, entertaining enough, attractive enough, intelligent enough, informed enough, friendly enough, useful enough. There are people I would love to spend more time with... women especially... but the social anxiety is crippling. Medication helps only so much. I can only wait and hope for somebody to understand before it is too late.

Halloween is fast approaching. Pumpkins appear on doorsteps. Leaves change colour. Orange, red, yellow and every shade in between abound. The air is cool and crisp. Soon the satisfying crunch of dead leaves underfoot will gladden every step. How I love this time of year. Yesterday I received an email from a Wiccan website. ‘An ye harm none, do what thou wilt.’ Here is wisdom. Where the religions disagree, let this be the deciding commandment. Freedom and peace in humble simplicity. Two sharpened wooden stakes at the bus shelter last night have me pondering my mortality and watching my back....

It's official... I'm a big baby. My test results are normal. My thyroid is fine and I have no liver damage. I have my health. But do I have my sanity? Last night I received a call at work... a male British accent asked if I was coming for a visit to their institution... my jaw went slack... I don't remember what I said. Somehow I asked if it was Colin, which mercifully it was, calling from his cell phone in the bathroom. A few months ago a prank like this might have shattered my mind. This time I survived.

Fucking noise... pollution, all of it. Car alarms, ringing phones, yowling cats, garbage trucks accelerating, gearing down, braking and backing up, infuriating car stereos, broken mufflers, deafening machines, strident voices and boisterous laughter, clattering metal, roaring harddrive, thundering footsteps, insidious electrical droning, alarm clocks and buzzers... it must be stopped. Silence is a sacred space in which healing may occur. Deprived of silence, I become agitated, irritated and reactionary. Excess noise is an affront, an intrusion, a violation. I should no more be forced to endure noise than inhale second hand smoke. Which reminds me, tobacco companies must be stopped.

Is there anything to look forward to? Every week is the same. I spend the weekends killing time, waiting to go back to work. Television, computer games, music, books, food, sleep... these pass the time until the new working week begins. Each night at work is a balancing act. I hold my breath, cowering from anything threatening or unexpected, poised precariously over the abyss. Thankfully there are moments of peace, acts of kindness to shepherd me through the void to the weekend. Saturday morning comes as a relief. The cycle has ended. Angst retires until midnight, reborn when I awake.

Conversations with Dan and Leela this weekend have sent my paranoia through the ceiling again. At work I am bombarded with comments that make little sense unless I can twist them into some gigantic web of deceit beyond my normal range of consciousness. ‘The universe is the joke of the general at the expense of the particular' This is exactly the feeling. I am the only one unable to share in the joke. How long must I remain cut off from everything and everyone? I am imprisoned. Only medication keeps me from utter despair at the loneliness of this purgatory.

I would like people to tell me the truth. Why then is it so difficult to be honest? It is difficult to lie, but also difficult to be honest when the truth might hurt. Saying no is the same. I worry that by refusing, I may hurt someone. So I get into no end of trouble. And no end of guilt. It is impossible to maintain strict honesty. Merely withholding information is a lie waiting for the right question to be asked. Refusing to answer is admitting to knowledge. Better to have no secrets than be caught in a lie.

High winds, thunder and rain give cause to count my blessings. I have my health, shelter, food, electricity, entertainment, a steady job and friends and a family that loves me. What more can anyone ask for? How foolish I am to complain. Many people have so much less. How dare I complain? What a blessing to live in this country of wild beauty and prosperity. I have been trapped for so long in my own pain and guilt that I have been blind to the wonder all around me. So many possibilities... change is unavoidable. Relax then. Enjoy the ride.

It was a good night until I left work. On the bus I prayed for a man with throat trouble, sending as much healing energy from my heart and solar plexus as I could visualize, but my concentration wavered and I thought of Melanie. I became quite sad on the walk home and was nearly in tears for the first time since August until I met Sharon at the door. We chatted. She says my long hair is clogging the drain and grossing her and Chris out. Perhaps I’ll cut off my head and solve all our problems at once.

Sometimes words are so much clutter, without meaning, a waste of effort. Like today. My words matter to nobody. They resound in the void, fading into nothingness. What have I to say that has not been said better by another? What have I thought that has never before been thought? I am a wannabe. But what do I want to be? All I have ever wanted is to love somebody and to be loved in return. Everything pales in the brilliance of love. The Beloved is All. Without love there can be only darkness, fear, sorrow, despair. Love is life.

Anger is a necessity and a gift as well as a problem. It lends strength and courage to a righteous cause. Anger protects the weak and shields from attack. Last night I met injustice with anger. I stood up for what I believe in defence of the oppressed. Let me remember to do this always. All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. Defend. Help those who can’t help themselves. Shepherd the weak. Protect innocence. Resist corruption. Unbalanced mercy is weakness; unbalanced severity is cruelty. Justice, then, is mercy and severity in harmony.

Jeff Koyen, you fucking smartass, I haven’t jerked off since September 3rd. If you don’t want to read my 101st shitty word, why do you care what I have to say at all? I hope the world enjoys my pain while I sit here rotting in self-imposed imprisonment. I am resigned now to a life of punishment and suffering in solitude. If you think I can be broken any further, you must be mad. There is no forgiveness, no release, no hope. Every road leads to insanity. There is no escape. All that remains is to enter the eternal fire.

My interest in anything wanes by the hour. Nothing excites me. Nothing moves me. Nothing is worthwhile. Nothing holds any meaning. Only love can save me and I have lost all hope of that. I am pushed and pulled this way and that by the people in my life, for reasons known only to them. I can trust nobody. Nor can I reach out to anybody for help. I am utterly lost and forsaken. Why not throw everything away? I close my eyes and long for the void. My only regret is that I am too cowardly to attempt suicide.

Last night I saw two girls peeing in the shadows of the church parking lot as I sat with my father before work. Women are so brave. Standing facing a wall or a corner with your fly open is one thing... dropping your pants is entirely another. Had I been with somebody other than my father, I might have giggled and enjoyed the spectacle. As it was I could only disapprove and smirk. That smile was wiped from my face soon enough when I said hello to Tashlin in the stairwell and received no reply. Why try? Women loathe me.

Last night I shed a tear for the first time in months as I waited for the bus. This morning, cold rain underlines my sadness. I am so lost and alone. Even my closest friends have become strangers. Finally I feel more comfortable around people but there is a sense of futility, of having passed the point of no return. Is it too late? And too late for what, exactly? All I wanted was to love and to be loved, an end to the suffering. Now, faithless and unworthy, I may never know how near I came to that Grail.

How I long to let down my guard, to be free of this terrible burden once and for all... but no, I have not been forgiven so I must suffer the torment and isolation still. The longer I suffer, the greater grows my resentment. I may not be willing to forgive those who have refused to give me peace. I can trust nobody. I imagine manipulation and corruption everywhere. There is nowhere to turn for sanctuary. Incapable of deception, animals alone are trustworthy. I am indeed grateful for animal companionship, but in the end it cannot replace a woman’s love.

I slept not at all yesterday... rampant thoughts... Brooke Burke was pleasingly recurrent. Fred bought me a coffee and a donut... It was incredibly powerful and kept me chattering, racing around in a sweat, and driven to intensity and speed, steadily increasing for 6 hours.. It was really quite amazing. I felt like I was on something stronger than just caffeine. We finished everything by six. I hope to enjoy the experience more often. A thank you to Cynthia and to Cheyenne for their greetings. Small things like their hellos can often make or break my day. All is well....

My vacation begins today. Pat asked me if I was going south... south of heaven, perhaps. An incredibly beautiful young woman of colour got on the bus last night. The most wonderful dark, doe eyes set in a perfectly smooth sculpted face with pillow-soft lips... I was in awe.. she was probably all of fourteen years old. Then, on break, I watched a lone blonde woman with amazing long legs and the most revealing heels walk slowly along Grafton street, through a crowd of drunks, then back again. A prostitute, perhaps? So lovely, so alone... My heart ached to help.

My life is being guided by others... there must be a great conspiracy. I have no control. This all stems from things I have said and done in the void of drunken blackouts. I feel bound, unable to make any decision, unable to take action for fear of making some mistake. I cannot go on living this way. I can only give in to the flow of events and put my trust in the people around me. I will not, of course, break just laws or knowingly harm others. But slowly, little by little, I must learn to let go.

How glad will I be when this month is over? Finding something to write about each day is difficult when every day is the same. Even on vacation I am bored. I am thankful for the break from the stress of the daily grind, though now there is pressure from my mother to do this and that, and guilt from the resentment I feel. Last night I attended a meeting of the Spiritual Science Fellowship and, though I felt very much out of place, I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps I have found something I can be part of at last.

Last night I saw Peggy, my favourite cybergirl, for the first time in weeks. She looks healthy and lovely as ever with her pretty blonde hair, mischievous eyes and beautiful smile. Though she speaks little English, for months she has been the only woman I look forward to seeing. She has been dependable. Watching her laugh and play with Amon, a huge black dog, was one of the few things that gave me real joy whilst deep in depression. When I couldn’t face anyone, when I couldn’t look a woman in the eye, she was there for me. Thanks Peggy.

Halloween... finally October comes to an end. Nothing has changed. Garbage piles up, dust thickens, strips of paper litter my table, along with books, tapes, envelopes, medication. I waste every day lost in television, video games, internet, occasionally music or books. I eat to fill the emptiness, as much as to satisfy hunger. Yesterday I had my hair trimmed by a kind woman with a European accent. Being touched was electrifying but being so close to a woman was intimidating. I had chest pains and couldn’t breathe normally. Even medication cannot relax me. Can nobody release me from this hell?