Diary Of Some Sort Of Life #19

Wednesday, 22nd March, 2017


I’ve had to assist my niece in finding her way to London this morning. She could do it herself but, because my parents think she’s five( she’s not. She’s 18!), I said I’d get her to Waterloo. I’m sure it’s the last thing she needs, being with her, black sheep, uncle. Who says “fuck” a lot and smokes fags and stinks of alcohol. 


I got her there. Pointed out Waterloo East and Platform 19. Amused myself by saying, “don’t talk to any strangers!”. 

Anyway, back to my misery.


What’s today going to be like then? I doubt I’ll enjoy it. Number one, I feel really sick. Two, I’m sick of this job. And three, I’m just sick of everything. So, long and short of it, I’m sick. Sick in the Fucking head. 

I’m definitely not looking too savory and, I could do with a shave.


It’s flipping freezing. I knew I shouldn’t have retired the parka for summer yet. I think, I’m just ill. 


Nice. A bit of London carnage. Stabbings, and people mowed down in cars. Just like the good old days. I’ll tell you what, I’d like to see make a comeback. Oliver Twist style, street urchin gangs. 

Thursday, 23rd March, 2017


I’ve been vomiting, pretty much, every 15 minutes since about 2 am this morning. Stopped about 9 am and fell asleep until now. No more so far. Thank god, as my stomach muscles are killing me. I told you I was sick.


It’s just not fun anymore. Constantly trying to find a point. My dad struggles with it the most. He can hear the words. He tries really hard to understand. Mental illness is something that’s cured by a kick up the arse. He looks at me with such contempt. I’m a bum. 

He asked me today, what I was planning to do with the rest of my life. The “I don’t know”, followed by the “I don’t really care”, wasn’t what he was looking for. I was being honest. He grew up in a very different time. I think, he thinks, I am just feeling sorry for myself. I promise you I’m not. I’ve had longer to come to terms with it, I suppose. Like I said, I just can’t see the point.what difference anything will make. It’s quite common but I am lucky, I do function. A lot of true sufferers of mental illness are completely incapacitated by it. I have an automatic pilot, that gets me to work, makes me shower and clean my teeth. It’s all still going on inside, but the wear the mask. That Fucking mask.

I’m in “The Dive”. I’m drinking a coke. One the weirdest things I’ve ever done. The fizz and sugar are settling my stomach. I’ll probably have a Guinness. I hate soft drinks.

Leave a Comment. You might win a Prize!?