30.9.

I feel so dumb. Like there are no actual thoughts moving in my head. I read the scraps of poetry (or something like it) that I've written and wonder how and where all those lines came from - maybe they flowed from my fingers to the screen, but definitely not from my head to my fingers. This, in itself, is not a new feeling to me: I have always been astonished at anything I get into words. However, at the moment I feel that this will never happen again, and though even that is not a new thought, it gets some support from the date of the latest poem I have put up. Nothing new since then.

I have walked so far into the desert that there is nothing living there, not even creative force. Or maybe I'm following the wrong metaphor: maybe I am not suffering enough right now? Maybe I need more angst? Unfortunately I think the first option is right this time: it is said that depression makes you dumb - and I believe it. I feel exactly that. Dumb as a brick, and about as fascinating.

Not that these have been bad days, as my days go. Yesterday I went to Qttiland to have dinner, and we had a very nice time, though I ended up talking more about this summer's live-action games than either of them can possibly have wanted to hear. We watched the musical episode of "Buffy" while eating vanilla ice cream with bananas and chocolate sauce - it can't get much better than that.

The weather was beautiful, as well: I took the dog out before I left for the dinner, and we went to examine the little forested hill I mentioned before to determine how far the plans to turn it into a park had proceeded. There were more gravel paths and some plantings, but no other changes. The summer was warm, the earth smelled of sun-warmed pine needles, the rowan trees were heavy with red. Philip Glass's score to Kundun (which I was listening to on the walk) went very well with the serenity of the wood.

Today it was still rather warm and pleasant, but now the trees along our road have finally caught up to autumn: the maples are turning all colours of flame. I managed to call Mom, finally, in the afternoon, and she said she was coming to town to pick up tickets to the opera and asked if we could meet. Well, that was better than I hoped, since I simply had to ask her about the money thing, so we met and had dinner at Santa Fe and talked more than we have for a very long time (the last time, I suppose, was in Paris a year ago, and that was a very tense trip and not very conducive to achieving understanding). She promised to help me with the phone bills, so the most urgent money problems are almost in order. I may even have a working phone connection tomorrow.

I am, however, a little afraid of a backlash - there were some things that she had either forgotten or had never even heard from me, and even though she seemed to take it all in stride, I fear that when she gets home, goes to bed and lies awake worrying about everything, it will result in a delayed reaction of overblown panic or regret or something. I wouldn't want her to worry needlessly - and I tried to say so - and especially not start playing the Blame Game again. It does not matter who is to blame; the only thing that matters is that there was a reason, so I alone am neither faking nor totally doomed to being in pieces. (But I know it is difficult - especially since in Finnish there is only one word for both "blame" and "a reason for something".) But we'll have to wait and see.

I got home after nine. Anni was here, unsuccessfully trying to head for bed. We talked a little, mostly about a poem she had written (which was very good, and in a form that surprised me). Then she went to bed, and I tried to watch Wild, Wild West, decided it was not worth the effort even for the steampunk themes, and ended up in the kitchen with Kalle, Vera and Anu, who were celebrating Kalle's birthday with tea, vodka and jam. Being me, I was not sure if it was okay to join the conversation, but somehow I did it anyway, and we had quite a long talk which, despite the somewhat serious subject matters (mostly experiences on surgery and medication), did not get so serious in tone as to be uncomfortable.

I do feel that I could have left some things unsaid, despite the others claiming that they did not feel I was too frank... I don't mind their knowing about those matters, just... just that I put myself forward too much. And that, as we remember, is the unthinkable crime.

I took Anu and Vera to the train station and talked with Kalle a little more (which was a relief to me - it has bothered me a lot that we haven't talked properly for ages, just sort of passed each other with maybe two words - on a good day - for months). Then he had to get to bed, as he starts in a new job tomorrow, and I sat down to write.

Where is that strange something that possesses me and puts dreams into the back of my head and words into my fingers? I want it back.

I dunno. Maybe I don't have a guardian angel. Maybe I have a creation angel that only shows, like guardian angels, in extreme and unpredictable situations. Maybe that's why everything else is so screwed: his business is not to see how I am doing otherwise, just to move my fingers occasionally, not too often and not too predictably just so I wouldn't start believing in him... (Oh, it's definitely a he. Too stingy with words to be a she. And definitely not a muse. Ideas are clearly not his strongest issue.)

Anni had a nightmare and crawled into my bed with her old plush beagle, returning the favour, as I crawled into hers on Saturday so as not to have the opportunity to read in bed and stay up even later than I already was. I'd better be a good girl and head for the pillow myself.

The new trailer for The Two Towers indicates a mood that is much changed from that of the original film - unfortunately, further away from the book. I still can't wait. And I certainly hope I have enough money to buy the Special Extended version of The Fellowship right on November 12 (or that someone in this house has).

28.9.

I experienced a revelation today, a real, honest-to-God revelation. It was something the psychiatrist said yesterday, but it only registered today.

I reminded her of what I had told of my youth and theorized that I had probably been clinically depressed ever since the inexplicable hysterical crying fits at age seventeen. And she said something like: "Yes, very probably, and no wonder, with your family background." I must have looked surprised, since she continued that there clearly were problems, what with my parents' divorce later and what my father said about wanting to leave earlier but not wanting to leave us children, and since the problems were swept under the carpet at the time, it was only to be expected that someone in the family would start showing symptoms of anxiety.

It somehow flew past my ears yesterday, but today it swung back and hit me hard between the eyes. And why was it such a huge hammer?

Because all this time, I have somehow not seen any real reasons for my mental state, and kept apologizing for it. Either I have fallen ill for no reason at all, which means I am truly a defective sample, unable ever to have a normal life anymore... or I am not really ill at all, only pretending out of selfishness or sloth. Either solution is shameful. But now - there is a reason, an actual reason outside of myself. And that means I may still get better with proper help... at least I have a chance. And first and foremost, I can stop being ashamed.

Unfortunately, this may look like pushing the blame at my parents' door again, but that is not the important part. It isn't as if they did it deliberately to hurt me or anyone. The reason could just as well be a car accident or some school trauma, and in any case it is true that I am very sensitive, almost overly so, and was even more so as a child, so it is quite natural that if there was something to react to, I would react (even if some other children might have come out of it all completely unscathed and oblivious).

I just never saw that I was not reacting to nothing, not before this.

It's hard to stop repeating this over and over. Also, I am completely baffled as to how to name the feelings caused by this revelation - and I am never baffled when it comes to emotions! Now... I am completely lost. This feels huge, but what if it turns out not to help, after all... to be just another little hope, false hope? This feels liberating, but is it really? Do I dare to be happy for something like this that is only a promise, since a promise in itself always includes a demand?

I slept very late today, though I had wanted to get up early, to call Mom and to go visit her. Well, maybe tomorrow. I took Kalle to the airport for a trip to Moscow to judge the final of the Russian football league. After that, I've just spent the evening doing nothing at home. Anni wanted to watch Seven Years in Tibet, but I couldn't really concentrate (I much preferred Scorsese's Kundun), so I just switched between familiar web pages (such as FictionAlley, a Harry Potter fanfiction site with some rather good novel-length stories; try "Trouble in Paradise" by Ebony aka AngieJ or "Paradigm of Uncertainty" by Lori), my own files and two books once in every two or three seconds. We made pancakes and had them with raspberry jam and vanilla ice cream, and I don't feel the least bit guilty.

(Yes, I read Harry Potter fanfiction. The good sort. What of it? I happen to like Harry Potter, and it is easier to find entertaining fanfiction on something you only like, no something you are madly passionate about - the passion generally includes very definite views on what the fanfiction can be about, or like. That's the case with me and Star Wars. And it is impossible to wade through the seas of drivel that people write about The Lord of the Rings after the movie...)

After the movie, Anni went to bed. I thought of watching Amelie, so I could take it back to Topsu and Heli tomorrow, but I ended up fiddling with my web pages and writing this.

There was another positive note that I forgot to mention yesterday: someone, almost certainly Dad, had transferred some money to my account without my phoning for the exact amounts and account numbers for the bills. Now I probably have enough to pay for the interests of the student loans. After that, the most urgent priority is getting the phone back in use, so I am available for calls to work (if a substitute is needed for a sick teacher, it is needed immediately, so phone is the only way for that).

But I still haven't done anything to the pile of half-finished costumes and costume parts that I want (and need) to sell.

And, naturally, I have doubts about the choice of medication we decided on. It's the sort I had before, in the beginning, and I know it helps noticeably with the eating thing, but it has its side effects, and it is supposedly not as effective an overall mood-enhancer as some newer products. However, as I did not see much of a change in my mood with the newest product I tried, I thought that this one at least does some good I can recognize. I hope I was right. Of course it can always be changed again.

27.9.

I guess I have to force myself to write. It won't do to give in, as I always used to. This is public, after all. You started it, woman, now grin and bear it!

So: the deliberately catchy ending to the last entry. What I meant to refer to is the strange way that people have of presenting themselves as consisting of different facets or different personalities on their web pages (for example Jori, Dare, Moira). Oh, I can see the logic of the metaphor, and I can understand it is mainly a stylistic solution, but to me, it is profoundly strange.

You see, I don't see myself as showing a different face - a different facet - in different situations. I am me, and I am always the same. In some cases I may be so scared that I deliberately hide some parts of the picture (and in some cases, such as when working, it is not fear but common sense), but it is the same picture. There are no colour options, no choices of filling. I just come as a whole package, take it or leave it.

Yes, I know it is a pretty big package. And one of my ongoing projects has been to learn to scale the size of the window showing the inside. Of course, now that my main concern has been survival for some time, all other projects have received less priority. But I have learned some, already: two very successful runs of the Ropecon larp program prove it (not to mention the dance thing this year). (Though I don't expect to be invited back next year; it would seem that it was not a good idea to explain my current condition to some people.) And by "successful" here I don't mean doing it well, but doing it without losing my nerve or my temper.

Anyway, facets. I just find it strange to imagine that seeing people like that would be desirable. Jori found a very good quote on this a while ago, in which it was stated that no-one here wants the whole package, just tiny bits and pieces. I don't believe it; don't want to believe it. I want to see other people in their entirety - how else could I understand them? And if I didn't understand them, how could I possibly accept them? How could either of us - I or the other person - trust my acceptance without understanding?

The past two days have mostly been what one could expect after two days of working and not sleeping properly beforehand: sleep, surfing, reading, TV. I still haven't called either of my parents. I haven't found a larp for the yearly general meeting. I haven't answered several mails I should have. And we are not even going to mention the long-time not-done list.

I did, however, accomplish three things, three real things, not matter the size and importance. I wrote up some news for the LARP Association's front page. I wrote my Vampire game report and sent it, all complete, all in one day (and believe me, this is a huge accomplishment for me - though this report had absolutely no literary merit of any kind). And I went to see the psychiatrist today.

Now I have medication, a paper that states my depression that I can use to explain myself when trying to work out the money matters, and a new appointment in ten days. I cannot yet say I trust this development - I have felt relieved and hopeful for so many times, only to have the hope fail when things don't work out after all... so, no hope yet. I feel... careful. Guarded. Suspicious. But suspicion includes expectation, so... we'll see. It is clear I need therapy to work out the inferiority issue at least, and where and how the therapy might materialize is not at all clear.

I started working on a page describing my larp experiences, but there is too much to remember in seven years already... I got bogged down, and have to rethink the whole page. Then I started a page on favourite movies, comics etc., until that, too began to expand beyond all reasonable limits. How do other people manage these things? Am I so hopelessly wordy (yes, I am, I know)? Or so hopelessly bad at English that I cannot put things succinctly? Grrr...

Things are getting more and more dismal with Anni, but I find it difficult to judge how much I can analyze the situation out here. Not that I care, but she may. In any case, it seems that she has almost completely given up on my company. She says I am still a member of the family, but I don't need more of those. I need a friend, someone who enjoys being with me, going to places with me, doing things with me. Not even all the time, but at least occasionally, preferably regularly. Today she came up with the defense that she may not be a very good friend all in all, as if that was some inherent feature and not a matter of choice.

Many of her choices have hurt me lately, and as I overreact to everything in this condition, I cannot judge which of my feelings of resentment have been justified and which haven't. It hurts. Nearly everything about her hurts nowadays, because in everything I see her turning away, moving on, starting new things.

I guess I was just a phase to her, after all. I didn't see our friendship as something transitory; never have, never will. But it would be only typical of me not to be able to hold anyone's interest and/or loyalty for good... and maybe even typical to be drawn to people who fit the pattern of acceptance and rejection that I subconsciously expect.

Not that I find it any less a matter of choice. All relationships require choices, friendship as well. People don't just grow on you comfortably; not until you are at least sixty (I'd say seventy, just to be polite, but I've seen some sixty-year olds who seem to exhibit the comfortable paradigm). "Soulmates" is a nice myth, but it is a myth. Friendships have their honeymoon period just as well, and after that, there is a choice of accepting the other person without illusions. Or not.

Of course, I am not the best person to speak of friendship, considering how many friendships I have kept for a long time: practically none. But that, again, has little to do with how much I cared for those people and everything to do with how much I believed that they might care for me or my company. I am still altogether willing to be friends with all the numerous people out there that I have touched and lost - altogether willing to be whatever they ask me to be for them - but I cannot possibly go and try to create that bridge again myself. I simply do not have the capacity for that. I may some day, but at the moment, it is so impossible I cannot even see that day.

(Okay, let's stick to the strict honesty principle: there are three exceptions. Three people, of all the years, that at some stage have been close, or almost close, and have absolutely no chance of ever getting back, or even anywhere in my vicinity. But enough of that.)

And I suppose I have said too much and angered Anni, after all.

25.9.

For these past two days, I have slept too little and too irregularly, been working on both days (though getting up today, the decision not to was very, very close...), tried to avoid thinking of several rather urgent matters and been tired and numb. Oh, and I did finish the costume for Petri and took it to them late last night. Petri was sleeping by then (my brother needs ten hours of sleep every night so as not to get cranky), but Paula gave me some tea and sympathy (and admiration, for the separate hood in particular).

I slept most of this afternoon, once I got home from work, and I am still too tired to chronicle everything properly. Tomorrow, maybe.

Oh, one thing of note: yesterday I managed to call the city healthcare psychiatrist I saw in the spring, and she agreed to give me a statement on my depression that I can show around when (if?) going to try and work out the money matters, and to see me on Friday. I don't expect her to be able to offer me much, but at least it's something. (Though not that great an accomplishment - anything to get off phoning the parents and asking for money...)

Someone ought to get me addicted to listening to music. I have always done far too little of that, and nowadays even less. Not because I don't like - even love - music, but because my taste is such an odd mix that I have never felt comfortable with anyone else's musical taste, and I have always felt somehow overwhelmed by the huge sea of sound that is out there, and uncertain of how to pick out the things I want. I own maybe twenty or thirty CD's if the renaissance dance tapes are left out, and that - I know - must be an abomination in the world of a civilized human being... My brother must own two or three thousand.

The most music I hear these days (besides some old comfort CD's and soundtracks) is when I get to borrow the car. My strategy is to switch between two hit pop channels, Kiss FM and Nova, because it only takes one push of the button to do that - but I am not really very satisfied with them. I cannot stick to just one channel, because I can't bear listening to stupid people on the air, and everything people say on the air is stupid. (Especially the commercials. I mentioned this before, didn't I?) So I need a one-push-of-the- button backup... I wonder if any other combination would be worth listening to, but haven't found it.

It would be nice to be able to use song lyrics as quotes and mottoes, as so many other people do... But what can I do, with my pitiful pinch of knowledge in that area? And besides, I have always felt more at home with written poems. It just seems that song lyrics are more useful for giving others something to relate to.

Now I must put a stop to the babble and go to sleep. More tomorrow, among other things musings about slicing people into segments.

23.9.

Up and down, up and down. Or, more correctly, down and more down.

Tonight, again, we are back to square one with its knives and its cold and its call of oblivion.

I am not worth living here.

And this came after I had managed to take care of some little responsibilities, had even cooked for myself, was in the middle of the sewing... All it took was one thing, one thing that was not even something I should have got mad about... which, of course, only makes it worse. I cannot be good and nice or even just, even when it concerns something that I really enjoy and care about. I can only be terrible and difficult and unfair and nasty.

I am not important enough to anyone that my going away would really be unbearable. Most people I have distanced by simply not being there, and to the rest I have been there so much that their burden will be much lessened if I am gone. (Oh, of course they will be sad, but not so that they will not be more relieved in the end.) I should simply gather the courage to give up, finally.

However, the courage has deserted me again, and once more I cling to the pitiful hope of finding tomorrow a better place, even though I am not doing anything to make it so. Anyway, as it has passed for now, I am still up, trying to finish the costume for Petri, waiting for the morning and going to work.

Today should not have been this bad. And it wasn't, until my fears and my evil hit me again in the face like a bough full of sticky spiderwebs. I still feel nervous, as if I was not sure if the spiders are hiding somewhere in my hair or clothes. I feel terrified, even more so than yesterday. Terrified of everything.

I will just try to finish that costume and go to work and hope that something will turn up that is enough of a reason to go on for another day. Or do I? I cannot tell any more.

Someone called me today, and I should decide what to say about it. Do I call him by his name, as the phonecall was all business, after all, and that business will undoubtedly come up in these entries in the future (provided... etc.)? Or do I call him by the moniker that tells at once who we are talking about - the Certain Someone?

Of course it brightened my day just the tiniest bit to hear his voice, even in business, and to remember that I have a part, if just a small, assisting part, in that business. On the other hand, it really means nothing much in comparison to some other matters... and all tiny lights went out after the big storm tonight.

I can still smell the burning and feel the cold, having blown another cute cottage of self-delusion away from around me.

Headache. Half past three am. I need some coffee. It would have been better to have a proper night's sleep, but that would have meant leaving another important job undone, and I couldn't do that. Besides, getting up at six would have been unpleasant anyway. I only have five or four hours tomorrow (can't remember which; the other choice is on for Wednesday), so I am sure I can manage.

...I remember a time, a few years ago, when I was working regularly at this school, and I was miserable in my private life, enough so that I was probably acutely depressed even then. I went to see a doctor by the recommendation of my headmaster. I remember then that I was asked if I wanted to apply for psychiatric help or try antidepressants, and I said no to both. I said I did not want my records at work to show that I needed a shrink, and that I did not want to be anything else than myself. Later I had to give in to the medicine issue - and noticed that they really do not change one's personality as such, they only make everything a little less sharply unbearable - but I still wonder if I might have received proper therapy, had I applied for it then. You see, I was told by a psychiatrist this spring that it was hopeless for me to apply for the state-funded therapy more than once (I already had my quota when I was twenty-three), since I was too old; that maybe, just maybe, if I was twenty or so, I might have a chance of receiving it again. So I am not a good investment any more. I am a has-been, or more accurately, almost-been.

That is why I don't really hope to get any help from anywhere any more.

As to the antidepressants, I have tried several different brands, and none of them are suitable for me. I would need more consultation and follow-up on them (as well as a new prescription on whatever would be considered the next possible choice), and I don't have that either. I have no-one to go to.

This is not to complain, only to explain. I suppose I could complain as well, but one does no do that if one does not believe in one's right to have the things under complaint.

22.9.

I am afraid. Well, I am afraid all the time, but the terror is climbing all over me with slimy little paws right now.

I am afraid because I am feeling marginally better, and I know that means that I should then be well enough to work for getting better and for managing my life properly. Unfortunately, the fact that my mood is slightly less black than, for example, two weeks ago, does not mean that my problems are any less manageable than they were then. However, it is so easy for people to think that this is easily solved... that all it needs is a little push upwards... that actually, there is no problem at all but my own laziness. I used to get that from my parents a lot, and I still don't know if it was a misguided attempt at consolation and encouragement, or if they truly believed that I was the source of all my own problems, and that if I just tried even a little, I would be quite fine, and less of a disappointment...

To be fair, my parents have never said right out anything about my being a disappointment, but I can read people well enough. However, that is not really the issue here. They are not under judgement, I am. And I am sitting here in the defendant's chair, mute and stiff with terror.

I cannot, am not able to, put my life back in order just like that. I am not well enough. I am not human enough. And so these days of false hopes only serve to emphasize the core truth, to drive the lethal sword of ice deeper, to widen the black hole in my guts.

So please, darling friend, do not ask me if I feel better after a day of small hopes. To answer in the positive - and I have to; I have to be truthful - is to admit to being able to survive in this hellhole that I have to call my life. And survival is enough, isn't it? I need no more, do I?

Survival - fuck it! It's overrated, if there is no advantage out of it to anyone but yourself. Someone who only survives is a waste of food, energy, oxygen and time (to paraphrase LM Bujold), unless they do something with the life they are using up.

Hm. I think I went through this rant just last time. Excuse me.

So, in truth, I am afraid to feel a little more positive, because I fear I am then expected to be completely well and fine and in no more need of help - when actually, if I am ever to reach a level of normality in that sense, I need both medicine and therapy, probably quite a lot of both. (No, I have neither right now, if that has not been made clear yet.) I am not saying I am entitled to either; no, only that I am a broken model, a faulty test-piece that by some accident ended up being sent to the world, and that it is quite fair if I am discarded now, after coming apart... but that if some value might still be seen to be had out of me, it won't happen unless I am fixed. Properly and thoroughly.

I fear that if I show the least signs of being functional, I will not be fixed.

Anyway, I was supposed to get up in proper time, but again, I was tired and dreams were sweeter. Couldn't remember them this time around, though. I didn't get much done before Topi and Heli came here, as agreed. We had some tea, went to the sauna, watched Fellowship of the Ring and the behind-the-scenes glimpses of The Two Towers that came along with it, and had some more tea. Then I drove them to the train station. We didn't talk that much about anything serious, but that is not what I wanted from them; I just wanted to spent time with people I care about, and to know they want to spend time with me.

All in all, I cannot think of a single detail in the film that is flat-out wrong - the only changes are the aforementioned dramaturgical ones. (Well, okay, Liv Tyler is wrong. No reason why, she just is completely... wrong.) And I am desperate to see the extended version, with all the character development that is missing in the theatrical release! I mean, it is hard to imagine how they could leave out Galadriel's gift-giving scene, with Gimli and all, in favour of those stupid stairs or that inane cave troll!

I need to get up early to call the dentist. Anni and Lin threatened me with unmentionable horrors if I don't go and get the broken tooth fixed next week, and since I am working on Tuesday and Wednesday... I wouldn't have the time for that tomorrow, now, since I have to finish the medieval costume for Petri. We'll have to see.

I was supposed to call Dad today. Well, I didn't. Nor Mom either.

Oh, I almost forgot today's gratuitous exposition relationship-wise: I am also sad and angry because of a little thing I noticed yesterday by accident. A while ago, certain events took place where I took the side of a Certain Someone - both because I felt that the other side truly was wrong in something I feel strongly about, and because I have very strict views on loyalty, as I've mentioned. This was not altogether without personal cost to me. Now it would seem to me, in the light of the thing I noticed, that these events have been put in the past and matters between the opposite factions have been resolved. Nobody has bothered to inform me of the fact, which is not altogether nice, since it may affect certain choices I make in the future.

And, naturally, I cannot but feel sad that I was not informed of this thing I noticed, as such. I can see certain reasons as to why it would make sense, but... still, I feel hurt. And left out.

(P.S. Of course, with the fear, the eating thing is getting worse, again.)

21.9.

When I start thinking, I stop writing.

Too many thoughts to record, and I become completely frustrated by the fact that I cannot record them properly - there are too many, and I can't make informed decisions on which of them would be worth it. How could I, before they have been set down and become real?

Friday morning was difficult. I didn't sleep properly even for those few hours I could have, so I was feeling ill already by the time I should have been on the move. I had to take the car, or I would have been hopelessly late, and that is unthinkable now. I forgot that I could not call Kalle once I got to school (he was asleep in the morning, of course), nor could he call me, since there was no phone to call to. Of course it turned out that he would have needed the car today.

The work at the school was all right, I suppose. No worse nor less than it used to be (naturally, all is different when one has a regular assignment). Substituting is not pleasant while it lasts, but I can bear it, and at least the days are short and there is very little preparing or grading etc. to do. It is somewhat hard to avoid questions on how I am doing in my life (naturally, my former colleagues ask), and even this time I ended up being evasive and non-informative. I am actually afraid that these people would find out how badly I am doing - and then I could not work there (or anywhere) any more, or even if I could, it would become intolerable.

Besides, it would mean admitting to the outside, mostly impartial world that I am a total loser.

I don't know where, how or when I got into this strict class thinking, and it would be nice not to see the world like this. It would be nice to have some mercy on people in general and on myself in particular. But now that I have become what I never expected - one of the have-nots - suddenly deciding to see the world in a different manner would be nothing but a selfish attempt to make it easy on myself; to excuse myself, and that will not do. Only those who do not deserve anything else end up like this. Well, I have learned my place now.

And it still hurts.

However, I am working again on Tuesday and Wednesday, for now.

I called Dad and tried to call Mom, but could not reach her. Maybe it was as well, since the conversation with Dad was difficult enough.

I visited Tommi on the way home, returning his Gladiator soundtrack and borrowing his Fellowship of the Ring video (as it turned out, Anni came back from Lahti today and brought the DVD version of the same with her...). He was on his way out, to meet his brother and to go and see his grandmother, who is poorly. I hope she gets better. I hate to see him hurting.

I fell asleep on the sofa, waiting for a movie, and according to the proper rules of irony, missed it. I ended up surfing through inane late-night programs and finally going down to the home theatre and watching Fellowship, after all.

Today, dreams kept me entertained until late afternoon. Now I can't remember much of them, except for the fact that I and a group of friends were trying to leave a foreign country by aeroplane, and it turned out that the tyrannical government did not want to let us out. When finally we got to the plane and it started to move, the takeoff was unsuccessful - the plane simply did not lift properly, came back down, and the pilot had to steer a fast-rolling aeroplane through field and valley, until it finally stopped at the seashore. Only then did I notice that my father was piloting. Then we had to drive the plane back to the airport and wait for another takeoff, during which time I got off and went back to customs to argue about a pair of hiking shoes that had been stolen from me in the checkup. Suddenly, I was transported to shopping in Helsinki (which was Dream Helsinki, again - different from how it really is, similar to what it has been in other dreams... a very scary, very big and very magical place). I don't remember what happened after that.

Once I decided that there were no more feature-length movies forthcoming, I got out of bed. It was four in the afternoon, Anni had come home, and as it turned out, I was late for my meeting with Jukka (I didn't know if we were going to meet or not when I went to sleep, but he had emailed me around noon). So, no social interaction for today. Anni went out, so I've spent the evening switching between the next installment in a highly entertaining Harry Potter fanfiction story and Vernor Vinge's short stories, and trying to decide whether the film "Legends of the Fall" was worth watching (it was on TV). In the end the scales tipped on the negative side, though it was not as bad as I had heard.

I am still going to do some cutting and sewing tonight, for my brother. Paula decided she was not going to get around to making him something to wear for their old or folk music gigs, so we agreed on my making a tunic and a hood to start with, and something more decorative later. That also gave me the necessary excuse to get out of the house: I had to go and buy some new needles for the sewing machine.

Anni and I had a talk on relationships, giving and sacrifices earlier today, and the film also made me think about the questions of who, how and why we love and keep loving. I wish it were different - I wish I could see these things differently. I don't mean on the question of how, but on who and especially why. It should matter more. It really should. The "how" is the simple part: without condition, hiding nothing, counting no gain. But if only I could love someone who deserves it, I might have a chance of deserving some love in return. I just cannot force myself to fall for someone, no matter how much they might deserve it.

The verdict? Love is nothing but a torment, something only beautiful, good people have a claim to. The rest of us can only have, at best, vague times of contentment, and if we cannot be happy with that, there's nothing to be done.

On a tangent, one of the things the person I saw on Thursday said he liked in me were the times when I was happy and glad - when supposedly I radiated that happiness all around me, completely dazzling all the innocent people who happened to come in the reach of the influence (note the heavy irony here, folks). He even offered that as a sufficient reason for me to exist. Even pretending that what he said is based on some sort of reality, that is not me. It certainly is not enough of a reason to exist - it is not an accomplishment, it is not an act of good will, it is simply an unconscious state of existence that in no way requires a choice for something good; or work; or sacrifice. I do not want to be remembered as a happy person - I want to be remembered as a good person. A person whose choices were moral, and true. Happiness does not enter into it. Happiness only comes from, and after, accomplishing something of worth, or perhaps, to some rare people, from being loved completely.

I have been truly happy for a few rare times in my life, and even though they were probably not all for the right reasons, at least they were reasons that support my philosophy on this.

Yes, it may be considered a hard philosophy. But considering how soft I am by nature, it is necessary to try and compensate, and even then, as we can clearly see, I am not accomplishing much of anything.

19.9.

Most of today was spent meeting and chatting with this very charming person I mentioned yesterday. Still, even after seven hours of talk, I cannot figure him out. On the surface, yes - he says he likes me and sees some admirable qualities in me, and gave the impression that he wants to make me feel better about myself - but what is it that makes him see me so? How is his personality put together? How does he work? I can't understand, and I can't understand why I can't understand, and it bothers me considerably.

It also bothers me that his first and foremost loyalty is to a person I loathe. I respect other people's loyalties - after all, it is the quality through which I define all relationships - but I cannot see how he can reconcile that loyalty with being my friend. I do not mean to say it is impossible - only that I cannot see how it is done.

However, I am reasonably open to having it pointed out to me in the future (with the usual disclaimer of there being a future). I prefer my mysteries solved and served properly, so I am not too particular about having to solve them myself.

We talked about a lot of things, most of which I have touched upon in this diary or somewhere else on these pages. And yes, it was a pleasant evening, and answered a basic human drive - that of social interaction. It is not so much whether someone can give me any new answers to my problems (that is the job of professionals; after all, I have probably thought of - and tried and discarded - most of the layman's solutions by myself already), but the fact alone that someone thinks my company is worth their time that makes me feel better. And, after all, it is proven that there are at least three more people who do desire my company, considering that I have agreed to meet with one of them on Saturday and two on Sunday.

Four people that consider you worth their time is not at altogether bad, I guess.

I didn't get much else done, since I got up at the usual time - in the afternoon. Well, tomorrow that won't do, since I am going to work. Actually, I only have three hours left before I must be going out of the door. Sleep and risk being in too deep a sleep to get up in time, or not sleep and be nauseatingly tired by noon?

Probably not sleep, if only I can stay awake through the fateful hour of half past five... That's when it is too late to be a late night and too early to be an early morning, and that's when my resolution most often fails in the face of the allure of dreams.

Talking about things today I again realized how many games or other projects there are that I would like to make happen... but how can I, if I cannot first take care of my life and my responsibilities?

18.9.

Another night when - as I finally sat down at three a.m. to write today's entry - I was suddenly struck by childish contrariness and didn't want to write at all. It is all the more ironic because I had to wait for about an hour for Anni to finish borrowing my computer to send instructions to her workplace by email (she is down with another flu and another laryngitis, poor thing) and couldn't come up with anything else to do, so I just wandered around aimlessly and impatiently - and now I couldn't give a damn. I surfed a little, but it didn't help. Quite the opposite, in fact. Other people are showing proof of having a life, and it bugs me that I am so lacking in that department.

The last straw was Mike's two latest diary entries. Now don't mistake me, I like Mike a lot (he is, again, one of those people with whom I once had something resembling a friendship or at least a reasonably stable acquaintanceship, but, well, as things stand...). I just envy - and admire - his guts, his focus and his determination in pursuing his dreams. He has an abundance of exactly the characteristics that I lack completely, of which fact I was again reminded in a bitter way. I think it is wonderful and incredible that people pursue - and attain - their dreams. I just don't belong in the select class to whom it is possible.

It has been a bitter wall to accept.

And no, it would not be possible any more, even if I were miraculously cured of all my problems this instant. The only things I ever found worth dreaming of are irrevocably lost to me, now. Writing - well, that might still amount to something one day, with hard work, the right sort of guidance and the sort of focus I do not currently possess - but even then... what good would it do to me, really?

I wasn't going to say it, but I will. What good would it do to me if I became the greatest writer in the world, if it wasn't while I was young and (reasonably) attractive and interesting? Even if I suddenly acquired a slew of admirers because of my accomplishments, how would it make me happy, if there could be no real romance anyway, because I was already too old for it? And yes, of course I understand that romance does not depend on age... except it does. Really. At least for me.

It would seem lucky that I am single and am likely to remain that way. I clearly have a completely screwed view of relationships. However, recognising that does not make me any less convinced that it is impossible for anyone to see me in a romantic light once I am past thirty-five, and as fame and fortune are unlikely to come my way by then, I guess I am a lost case.

(Who am I kidding? I don't believe that anyone can see me in a romantic light even now. So again, the above is just an attempt to sound sadly ironic in a poor Helen Fielding imitation...)

I finally got around to what I have been planning for at least two weeks: I sorted out all my clothes - both mundane attire and larp costumes. I hauled out an awful lot of stuff that needs to head straight to the flea market, put away all light summer clothes and did a lot of laundry. And sorted out all the costumes or costumes-in-progress that I am going to sell. Lots of sewing is in order - I hope I can find the energy to get it done. After all, I desperately need the money.

Apropos money, there is some light in the horizon in that area, though it cannot really be described as reaching the intensity of a true sunrise. More like glimpses of flashlights from casual searchers. Some people have promised to buy a few things, and I am also going to work on Friday, at the school where I used to work a few years ago. Even so, it will only help with some of the problems, not all.

And I put up another larp fragment in the writings area, and fattened the general information page up a bit. Good girl. I suppose. I hope one day I can progress to a sense of accomplishment over it.

But there are so many things undone, so many jobs I haven't taken care of. I don't know if - even if I get better - people will ever believe I am worth anything, considering.

One more note before bed - and this is something about which I am very ambivalent. I have agreed to meet with a very charming person tomorrow for coffee (or tea) and a chat. I don't understand why this person wants to be in contact with me and in what sense. I don't generally feel this baffled about people or what I think they think - I almost always have at least a theory to lean on - but this time, I haven't a clue.

So I am more nervous and suspicious than usual, and considering how much that "usual" is... *tsk* I want to like this person, but if I cannot figure out his motives, how can I have even enough confidence to open my mouth for a conversation?

Also, it has become clear that I must find another last straw for any therapy to materialize. Well, it always was too much to ask, I knew it. After all, it was too much for myself, too.

17.9.

Didn't want to write last night. Don't want to write now either.

False hopes only serve to remind me, by contrast, of how screwed up my life really is. Life - what life? I couldn't tell the meaning of the word even if it jumped out of a dictionary and bit me in the nose.

And there are so many little things I wanted to write about on Saturday and on Sunday and never got around to it, and now I feel overwhelmed by the whole project. Not only the Vampire game report, but this. People say I should not worry; that I write a lot anyway, and do it well. What do they know? This is neither well nor a lot. I see it, and I am not satisfied with it. I wanted to write about how the forest was when I walked the dog on Saturday; how this little hillock near to us is being landscaped to be a forest park; how there are oak saplings growing there; how the smell of the dry footpaths and the wet leaves and the pine needles and the upturned earth is new and old and comforting and frightening; how I never got to see the corn in the fields right next to us ripe, since I never got out of the house in the past weeks... and how I hate the cold wind.

I have come to hate autumn lately. I used to hate spring for quite some time already, and now autumn as well. I suppose in this chronic state of paralyzing fear, all sorts of transitory states are unbearable. And I loathe cold - it makes me feel lost and abandoned.

I was supposed to wake up early yesterday to phone for a dentist's emergency appointment for the broken tooth, but there was no chance of that working. I could not get to sleep on Sunday, being too nervous of the coming demands of reality. So, no dentist. No dentist today either.

All I could manage yesterday was to get myself to Qttiland to roleplay, as we had agreed to continue the Mage came Topsu runs for Heli, Ebu and me. The chronicle is called "Lost Ones", and I understand several other people have played in it in the past, but it's been only us for a couple of years now (interrupted by Ebu's sojourn in Australia and other breaks). I was a little late still, but it was better than last... The game was fun, as it always is. I have no idea if there is any real point to what our characters are doing, and I don't care. I like them (though my character still sticks to her firm but totally false belief that she doesn't, neither herself nor the others...), and it's fun to watch the interaction in our most improbable group.

Well, now there's a break of at least a month in store, as Ebu is going on a trip to Seattle.

Topsu and Heli also have a new cat, Cindy, to keep Alvari company (though as she has only been with them for a couple of weeks, she is still rather afraid of Alvari). She was sweet, though somewhat reserved yet.

We agreed that they would come to Lummetie on Sunday for a sauna and perhaps a movie. I'm glad to see them. They are some of the dearest people in the world.

However, as it happens, the fact that I was able to get out of the house and engage in some social interaction only heightened how bad everything is in a bigger sense.

The house phone does not work any more. Well, I could not have paid the bill anyway, and I suppose Mom has had enough of paying for it after I left it unpaid. It just means that I don't have the reassurance of a phone line in wait, just in case I might once in that blue moon come up with enough courage to call any of the people I should call to clear up any of these messes.

Today, I have not left the house, nor done anything actually useful.

However, I did put up most of the poems and some of the LARP stuff I was planning to, and even got around to arranging this diary into a scheme with separate files. Another thing I should feel a sense of accomplishment for and don't.

Well, at least the stuff is out there, now, for those who might find some amusement in it.

I wonder if it would help if I listened to music more often? After all, I know it has an effect on me, and everybody else seems to communicate mostly through songs. And I know I keep finding lyrics I like, if only I make myself available to music... I just don't, for some reason, really do it.

15.9.

I'll split this up tomorrow. Honestly. (...Who am I kidding?)

Since we got home yesterday around four am, and I got to bed around six, waking up today was not the simplest of tasks. I moved the alarm onward three times and finally got up at ten to two. No car - Anni and Ene were not yet back from their gaming trip. Oh well, make rearrangements. So I phoned Jukka and he agreed to come and pick me up, so we could still go for coffee.

We did, and even though we only had an hour and a half before he had other appointments, it was a very nice chat. We talked about depression (can't really get rid of that subject altogether), life, love, ethics, relationships and the beginning of his studies at the Physics department. And games, too, of course. We agreed to continue the conversation soon. Besides, there is a Talk coming between our Vampire characters...

Once I got home, I was planning on writing my game report, but it was too overwhelming a task, at least for today. It's not for lack of trying... but there is so much to tell, to remember... I want to put in everything important, and everything is important. So I was still lounging on the sofa in front of the computer when Anni and Ene got here. Another argument with Anni followed.

The main problem underlying everything in our friendship at the moment is - paradoxically enough - her promise to get me some help. I cannot agree to that unless I am forced to. If I agree to it too easily, it already shows I am putting myself forward, believing I have some worth. If I believe too easily her reassurances of that worth, it is the same thing. I must test the conviction behind her caring. I must. Not because I doubt her, but because I have no choice but to doubt myself and my worth. I have no choice. Anything else would already be false pride. Anything, even the tiniest smidgen of trust.

That is the true curse of the clinically low self-confidence. To try to break its cycle would require an act that can only be accomplished with the skills one only acquires after breaking out. It is not right for me to put myself forward even enough to try to break out of that circle. I cannot expect to deserve it.

And yes, it must be hard on the people around me.

Later, we walked the dog and rented a movie, "Wonder Boys". It was one of those very well done but completely pointless films on life, writing, academia and growing up that should leave an impression but don't.

I am still tired from last night and this morning's broken sleep.

Another two people have expressed encouragement: one mainly on the personal side, one on my pages. Moira also gave me more helpful advice on how to make them look better.

Have to get more poems up tomorrow.

I want more games to live for. Of course, real life would be preferrable, but since it does not seem to be available except through application, I can snack on games and maybe survive, until the aforementioned life is back on the shelves.

Oh, and on the positive side: a little later (once the argument was done and gone) Anni and I had a girl-talk chat of the sort we have not had for a long, long while. Made me feel much better. I can't really be made to care about money or studies if I have to think of how people don't even enjoy my company any more.

14.9.

I did it. We went to the game. I did not have the best game ever - far from it - but when all is accounted for, I suppose I must say it was a good thing. I was all hyped up afterwards, oversocial and overly talkative, just like old times. Had I been someone else, I would have hated me.

As to the game, I'll make just one observation before I fall asleep. I find it truly ironic that there are certain choices that Kaarina, my long-time vampire character, has made lately that I certainly would not make in reality, and it seems they are choices that others consider wrong. I just try to look at things from a different viewpoint... but it is difficult when someone is explaining to you how you should do this and not that - and you as a real person agree with what they are saying, but your character does not. :)

Most people, I think, try to create characters that are something they themselves aspire to be. In the beginning, Kaarina was a lot like that, but lately she has mostly become an image of my fears and unpleasant needs.

Hm. I did not see it before saying this. I wonder... I suppose I need to re-examine the way I make her function.

Something quite small and meaningless but too difficult to write about (mainly because of the embarrassment factor) happened as well. I'll try to figure out a way to put it in words acceptable to a public forum, but I am too tired to do it just now.

13.9.

I suppose I should think of dividing these entries in some visually acceptable manner. It just does not easily occur to me to plan for weeks or - gasp - even months, when I can barely grasp the concept of tomorrow. Anyway, I am planning to, once I get around to it.

The literary attempts have a more urgent priority, right now.

Two people have expressed concern or caring today because of these scribblings. I know I am a sad person for actually feeling better for that. And still - these people do care. I know it; whether I can feel it is another matter.

Otherwise this has been a falsely promising day again. I suppose I had to psyche myself up for the Vampire game, once it was decided that Lin was coming if I was, and so someone else's evening will be dependent on me. I even managed some laundry tonight, and did some cleaning in my room. And went to the pizza place and to the video store and to the foodstore for a film evening (Anni wanted to sew while watching movies, which was fine with me). And after all, I did agree to take care of the dog, so I was sort of obligated to reacquaint myself with the great outdoors.

I took Jero with me when going shopping. It is still rather warm out there, but autumn has clearly sneaked around the corner just to shock me. Weeping birches are dotted with these yellow clusters like fruit, and evenings have a strange, layered colour - grey and pink and grey again. The night - when I made another outing to play with the dog - resembles the implacable softness of August, still. The moorings of time are not yet set properly. Ominous? Or a last, false relief before the demands of mortality get dirty again?

Search me. I never know. I always have to doubt. If something could be interpreted in a good manner, it must also be interpreted in a bad manner. How could one just decide which one is right - especially since one would naturally choose the more pleasant one? No can do. A character in one of Carrie Fisher's books describes herself as "Ever the Mistress of Fine/No Fine" when describing a doubting mindset like this. I am that.

Apropos Carrie Fisher - I love her books. Go read them - though they might be somewhat of a "chick thing" to some. I admire the way she describes the doubts and fears of life, a woman's life, an oversensitive person's life. Her books were one of my few true lifelines when I was living someone else's life a couple of years ago. Recently, I learned that she has been diagnosed as bipolar, is on heavy medication and still lives a full, busy life, having added mental health to the causes she speaks for. If I ever get better, I can hopefully cite her as one of my inspirations.

All my life - even as a teenager - I have found it hard to name any people I idolize, but she is definitely one.

"Vanilla Sky" was boring, and the solution was ridiculously ham-handed. I like mysteries - proper ones. This was not it. I hope I get to see the Spanish original one day. "Cruel Intentions" was more fun and more interesting than I thought it would be, but I did not like its interpretation of the message of the story: women are cruel manipulators, men are victims who can always be redeemed in the end. That is hardly the message of the original book. In it, Merteuil and Valmont are equals in all ways, evil as well.

Hmh. I have not thought of death more than a few times today. I suppose this provides incontestable proof that live-action games are good for me. Planning for them was what kept me going after Ropecon, and when the continuum ended, I collapsed. Here, now, despite how bad it has become, I can still pick myself up for a make-believe moment, for a game.

I hope. Well, we'll see tomorrow. A catastrophe is still possible and even probable, once I start to figure out what to wear and how to look at least bearable. It may not be a reachable goal, and then trouble will be here again.

12.9.

I don't have the energy for this tonight. Some ugly interactions have spoiled the evening rather thoroughly.

At least I finally managed to burn a few papers I have wanted to destroy for a long time. I should have gone outside to do it, but I was in my room after the aforementioned interactions - and frankly, outside never even crossed my mind anyway.

I wonder if I should be worried of how satisfying I found the flames in the ceramic bowl.

I should get on with the page of my writings, but I have so little skill in converting files into html that I feel completely overwhelmed.

Nothing else is new. I got up around three in the afternoon, feeling nearly as miserable as I did when I went to sleep. I had pleasantly vidid dreams, though, which was a welcome return to schedule. Unfortunately, I woke up just when I realized how much fun I could have in the dream... In contrast, most of the waking time consisted of the same old. I watched TV. I surfed. I read the paper. I watched some more TV. Anni came and went. I sent some emails and watched some more TV. Lin came home. Anni came home. We fought. She threw something at me. I flew to my room. We fought some more. I came back to read my email, get over the argument (but not make up) and try to be more social. I was not very successful.

And so it goes.

During the day, several inconsequential musings having to do with such things as the stupidity of reality TV and the surprising allure of a program on the making of pop stars out of ordinary girls, the fourth season of Buffy, American college dorms, the believability of religious faith, the stilted animation in Prince of Egypt, the frustration of worn-down videos, the frustration of writing in English and the net diaries of several people I know have flitted through my head. I guess it might have been useful to write them down, but as it happens, I didn't.

I wish I could come up with the energy for a thorough cleaning of my room, as well as that costume inventory. I need the money (though, as I said, I know I cannot part with the dresses that might make some actual money instead of just peanuts) and the room needs to get rid of the cat smell.

It has become apparent to all in the house that Tuikku has come of age. We agreed that it is time to take measures. If there is anything more irritating in the middle of the night than a cat who has an Opinion and is not afraid to present it most vocally, I don't know what that might me. And for the day, there is the special smelly surprise in your bag or your bed or the most difficult corner of the living room...

Despite that, he is a dear. One of the little blessings of life, cats are. The people who don't realize that can keep their opinions to themselves, thank you... It does make it a little - just the teeniest tiniest bit - easier, when you pet a purring cat. Just for that instant, but still. I just wish so many people who might even visit me sometimes were not so allergic to cats.

I have a broken tooth. Well, it was broken before, but it broke more today. I fear the need for a dentist will become urgent very soon, and I haven't paid for the two latest bills, so they would not take me in at the municipal health care. Not that I blame them, it just is so. And the bills are not even very big, but well - when there is no money at all...

Oh, I suppose there was one positive thing in all this: I had a warm meal. It was mostly the result of having to dig up the last things from the deep freezer, but I cooked myself a proper meal. An accomplishment. I wish I could feel somehow more positive because of it.

11.9.

The world is preoccupied with the memories of last year's terrorism horrors. Or I suppose it is; I haven't checked today. I wish I could claim to care.

You see, I do care, a lot, but since I am in no position to do anything about it, what meaning is there to sweet words? I can say I care, but only actions make it true, otherwise it is a lie.

I can't even be bothered to care about everyday matters. I haven't left the house since... last Thursday? I think. I haven't dressed properly since... the board meeting on Saturday? Again, I think. I can't remember when I last washed my teeth, might have been sometime last week. I haven't eaten a proper warm meal since Thursday, either. I should worry about the mobile phone not being in use, since if I cannot be contacted, I cannot get work, but I just go on numbly doing nothing.

And no, I am not trying to elicit sympathy (sympathy? this is more certain to elicit disgust). I am trying to chronicle the symptoms of this state, which I suppose is part of the deal, if this is supposed to deal with a real case of depression.

I glanced at the things I have scribbled down here. What on Earth is this drivel? I said I would neither hide nor evade - and yet I find such phrases as "a dear friend" or "some acquaintances"... This makes no sense. I should at least stick to those few principles I have left, such as truth.

So. I emailed Anne to tell her that she need not find time to realize her somewhat hasty promise to create a web page for me (though I would not mind help making these neater and more readable). I also emailed Jukka (I have decided to stop using "Mussu" - he has outgrown it) to try and find another time to meet for coffee and a chat. Neither has answered yet, but I suppose attempts at human contact should be considered a plus in a day of mine. I did as Anni asked and phoned Jori to ask whether he owns the second season of Buffy. Well, he doesn't.

I tried to sleep most of the evening, but was too restless. It would have been the best plan - I don't have much food left, and I have not gathered up enough courage to ask for money from anyone. So I ended up surfing on the net and watching (though I did not really want to) Paradise Road along with Anni, as the computer I am using is in the living room, and Anni wanted to watch it. I have seen it before, and it is not something I want to see again in this shape. I have just sat here and tried not to take anything in.

No, I have not the faintest idea of what I am going to do about the food or the money tomorrow. How could I, any more than I have an inkling of how to handle the study thing, or the bulimia thing, or the physical shape thing, or the debt thing. I never had any control of those, so how could I pretend to be able to handle this, either?

I am desperately trying to psyche myself up to resolve this, one way or the other. But as we have seen how good I am at resolutions, do not expect to see anything drastic any time soon.

Though, as things stand, I do not expect to be in shape to go to the Vampire game on Saturday.

10.9.

...I see now.

All this has been nothing but my typical last-second attempt to save everything; to get out of a fix created by my careless lifestyle and laziness and procrastination without any consequences, without recrimination and without cost.

That is why I get so impatient with Anni and how her promises are not materializing right now, this instant. And how she lives her life like nothing strange was happening; how I am completely separate from how she meets people, goes to sports training, goes to games... I need a quick fix. I need a situation drastic enough to justify my absolution, my complete and total getting-off-the- hook.

This is nothing else. It just seems awful from outside, since I always push. Remember? I never give up, never know when to stop, no, I just have to get my will. And now my will is to be a helpless victim so I can get off easily.

I really, really need to die.

...All right, all right, that was just slightly melodramatic. But it could be so, and I have no way to make anyone believe that it is not so. The worst possibility is always the right one.

You know, I truly hate someone in my past for teaching me to look at the world in that manner. It reinforced my inferiority complex in ways I might not have found for myself - as such, of course, said inferiority complex hardly needed reinforcing. And it is not the only thing I hate this person for: I am also angry, truly, honestly angry, that he persuaded me not to go and study to become a doctor. He said I would not have the necessary emotional strength for that. Oh yes, Mr. Know-It-All and your mother, then how did you think I had the strength to meet and work with several groups of rebellious teenagers every day, every hour of the working day? At least as a doctor I would have been truly useful, and my education would have been considerably more simple in that same emotional department. Well, he always was an idiot who used me to bolster his own inferiority complexes (I am sure he has not admitted that even now - oh no, I was the one with the problems, of course.)

I heartily hope that if that person ever stumbles onto these pages, he will not take the question above as anything more than rhetoric. He does not exist, and never did. If I hear a single word from him, I'll scream harrassment so loud that they can hear it in Lappland. End of discussion.

Anyway, I have been productive today, in a completely meaningless way. I finally have a homepage, and I even managed to load these preparatory ramblings up. So now this is it. I have gone public. I have become just another net exhibitionist.

I don't know if it makes any sense, really. I guess I should feel some great sense of accomplishment about this - I have been planning it for ages, after all - but I feel just as numb as always.

Still, I am very grateful for Kalle for taking the time and effort to help me put them up. Of course, everything is laughably simple and rude, but I am not out to win prizes for Most Beautiful Homepage, or even Most Lyrical. I just want my words out there. Whether they reach anyone or not, at least I have done what I always keep saying I try to, with the things.

To reach out. To seek a connection. Communication. Contact.

But there are so many of us trying to do the same thing, and doing it out loud over there, that I doubt this will create any ripples in the great sea of misinformation.

It's all about connection, so even in this, I am Mrs. Mediocre, again. There is this short story by Asimov (I think?) where no general election is needed any more, because the prediction programs can find the one person whose vote is the median vote, the One True Vote. Well, here I am. Always the one doing the things that everyone else seems to be doing as well, and always surprised by it. I never get fashions from other people, I just seem to pick them up by osmosis, and then one day I notice the same interests are everywhere. However, I am never early enough to qualify for trendsetter - I just get what everyone else gets, at the same time. Take writing, for instance. Or Star Wars. Or fantasy and Tolkien and live-action roleplaying. Or great dreams of saving the world which never materialize because of postponed studies and fear of final thesis, or severe depression. Everyone does them now. Just like Legolas or Nicole Kidman. Come and get me, find out the secrets of the Generation That Didn't. Or don't, please.

I used to think I was so different, and therefore, by always logical storybook extension, so special. Such pretentious and common garbage.

Anyway, while surfing, I ended up on the diary pages of this young lady I know slightly - that is to say, we have been in the same larps, sometimes even interacted in character, but that is the extent of our acquaintance, at least to my knowledge. Yet she seems to be one of those people who harbour this strange delusion of knowing me well enough to say that I am a terrible person. I guess it shines out, then. More to the point, I read some of it, and an opinion struck my eye. This young lady seems to belong to the school which says that it is wrong and shameful to ask money from the society you live in, and that anything is more honourable than that solution.

I agree with her, of course.

Then why am I not working, like she is? Cashiering at the food store, serving hamburgers, cleaning toilets at the airport, even... or, for God's sake, taking one of those substitute teaching jobs I know are around and for which I would be nearly qualified (or at least not so completely un-qualified as to qualify for a parent's worst nightmare)?

Because I still try to - want to - need to - be a student. To finish my studies, for which I otherwise have nothing to show, not having taken care of having my courses and exams properly signed and recorded. And I know - I know from the experience of years and years again - more years than I actually have spent studying properly - that if I take on a job, I won't study. It will be another excuse not to do something that terrifies me, no matter my need or want.

I am terrified of trying to figure this mess out anymore. And I am terrified of graduating with less than exceptional grades. Because those - the final grade of my Master's thesis, actually - will totally and finally define my value - my grade, if you will - as a human being. Come now, what is the true scales system these days? Education, right. And there is nothing to stop me, or anyone in Finland, from receiving just as much education as they could possibly want - no hindrances of class or money or location or family obligation - quite the opposite, actually. There is an obligation to be as bright and as educated as you can possibly be. The only value all our society agrees on without question is working one's ass off to be as good, educated and successful as one can possibly be. Nothing else will do. And if you blow it, it must be out of simple laziness. Or stupidity, which means you are not a grade A human. Not proper at all.

And I cannot live with that possibility.

I have learned to think with my own grey matter in many senses, but not in this one. I cannot purge this intellectualist-racist class thinking out of my head. I cannot help thinking that if I fail to be exceptional, I am bad, and will face both intolerable disapproval from my parents and total ostracization from the people I hoped to belong with. As if both fears were not already reality, here and now.

Oh, I am terrified of so many things it does not even make a subject for some tired jokes.

I live paralyzed by fear. If you can call it living. My life, my brain (what there is of it), my love, my hope, my dreams (what there is of any of these), are all buried under these frozen mountains of terror. I used to drag them around on my shoulders as much as I could, but I do not have the strength any more.

Tommi said, in a text message conversation a while ago, that since he managed to traverse and leave behind the swamp he was in three years ago, he was sure I would survive this one, since I am stronger than he is. I don't know any more. He has found a niche wherein he feels secure, and that brings an enormous strength of its own. I have never found mine, which naturally is one of the core problems. And strength or not, the mountains have simply grown too large now.

Most of this evening has passed by getting this stuff on the net, but I also managed one single true attempt at contact. I sent Jori a poem I wrote about him some time ago, in a series of attempts to describe some dear people in some approximation of poetic language. He said it made him feel surprised and self-conscious (but in a good way, I suppose - it is one of the words for which there is no English equivalent).

People have been coming and going - mostly coming; for once everyone at the house is home, with some extras to boot. There's been an overall veneer of normal social interaction. It makes me feel very strange. It's not as if anything had changed significantly from the feeling of not daring to drive anymore, or fearing I am taken for a fake if I open my wrists, or knowing I will soon be in the debt register and being too far gone to care.

Time to go to bed, I think. Might still avoid too much morbidity for one more night.

9.9.

Got up around one, when the phone rang - the hall phone, of course. Didn't bother to answer. Wandered around aimlessly, watched moronic cartoons on TV, and then Anni called again, to ask if I could get more Buffy to watch.

Why should I? Why should I exert myself for something fun, if I cannot do it for something important? She said it would at least cheer me up a little, but that only delays the inevitable. It just means one more day of worthless existence - one more day of pretense; of putting myself forward enough to believe I have the right to exist.

No, I don't. I have done nothing to earn such a right. I have no money, no job, no friends and no energy to do something useful that would justify wasting resources on this planet for me.

I have this fear - this burning terror - that the only solution there is is a complete life change: giving up everything, going to volunteer work somewhere far away, staying there, becoming some sort of a modern Mother Teresa. I fear that all this is simply pushing me to something like it, and everything will go wrong until I give in and do it. But it is not fair, and I will not let go of everything I loved and wanted. I will not, cannot. I will die first.

No, of course I do not have those things anyway - nor those people - but I cannot let go completely. It is impossible. It is too much to ask.

And besides, I am not exactly free to go, with all those debts.

I read some of the stuff I wrote in the first entries. I can't be bothered even that much any more. I am too tired.

I just told Kalle he should not trust me to take care of Jero next weekend, when he asked me to. He said, "Oh. Are you in such a bad shape, then?"

I said yes, yes I am. That I found it highly debatable that I could manage to take the dog for a walk, when I know it would be good for me, as well, except there are so many things that would be even better - and more important - for me, and I can't do them either. That walking the dog would be one of those stupid false hope things, so I would probably just not go. And then I realized I probably could not leave an innocent creature to burst, so I said I guessed it would be okay.

He explained that he would be away for the weekend, but was not taking his car, so we could use it freely if we wanted to (this is a common agreement). And I realized that I really do not dare to drive any more. Not even that. At least not alone. I said it to him, and he asked why. I said, "Because it might be too tempting just to let it go."

And he looked worried, but said nothing. And went away.

Anni said on the phone today that she had talked with some people, so the plans to get help were proceeding. However, in the evening she came home with a date of hers and did not have anything worthwhile to say to me. Of course she came to say hi - three times, actually - but so what? I understand it is supposed to show her caring, but if it is of no consequence, why do it? To me it felt more like showing her guilt.

I think of the options of suicide all the time now.

8.9.

Tiia stayed over, and we watched Cats and talked very late down in the home theatre. When I got up to go to bed I realized that I was coming down with a high fever - I could hardly walk because I was shivering and cramping so hard. I took some painkillers and tried to sleep, only to wake up two hours later, at five thirty am, sweaty but still aching and unable to get back to sleep for two hours. Around noon, Tiia came to say hi - she was leaving - and since my fever was high again, I asked her to call Heini and cancel her coming here to plan for an ad of the autumn meeting for Larppaaja.

I woke up again around four, took some cold medicine and tried to make myself comfortable on the living room sofa, watching TV. The fever was still making me dizzy. Kalle went somewhere, Anni came home from the weekend she had spent in this wedding with some people to give the affair a medieval air. She said it was great fun, and the couple was overwhelmingly grateful. Must have been cool.

I am still so tired.

I feel I should be proud of myself for listening to her troubles without once snapping back at her - it's not that I wouldn't want to listen if I can help, but Anni complains in such an aggressive manner that it makes me feel that she is mad at me if I say anything. Or even if I don't.

Watched TV, and then some more TV.

7.9.

Board meeting. I hate this.

I hate this.

I hate this.

Well, in the end I survived, surprisingly enough.

I did not remember to call the friend who did not turn up on Wednesday and cancel today's get-together, and he had no way to contact me with my mobile closed. Typical. And depressing. So - typical.

6.9.

There was an incredibly loud thunderstorm in the morning. The house shook. I am not generally afraid of thunder, but this was outright scary.

Otherwise, nothing new. It's five in the morning; I woke up an hour ago after having gone to my room to read and falling asleep on the book some time in the evening.

5.9.

One of those days of little false hopes. I woke up around one. Lin had just got up as well, but it took us hours to wake up enough to start doing anything with the kitchen. Lin vacuumed and washed the floor, while I took out the garbage, the papers and the cartons. After that, I managed to get into an argument with Anni over the phone - Lin's phone, since mine closed today. Well, I had been fearing it for some time already.

When Anni got home, we got straight back into the argument, and finally she told me to get out of her sight. I was on my way out of the door to take the bottles to the store and to buy some food, so I did. After accomplishing that (and buying disgustingly healthy and sensible edibles) I got home and proceeded to stay angry and hurt some more in my room. Finally we all ended up in the kitchen to cook a vegetable soup, and then down in the basement to watch more Buffy.

And that was about it. I was planning to start on cleaning my room and going through all my costumes to see which I could possibly sell, but the necessary energy did not materialize.

Oh, the argument concerned a bill for some money I am owed for costumes I rented to a group of horse people last autumn. A few days ago I complained about how I had not got that out, even though I needed money so desperately, and Anni promised to print it for me if only I write it anew and email it to her account. So I did, but she didn't check her email at school today, and so it was left for later. Of course, I was a little unhappy about it, but the matter was blown completely out of proportion on both sides.

In any case, I do wish she would not behave as if she was saving me single-handedly and bravely and at risk of her own life and health, when in fact she is not doing any such thing.

I know I behave terribly towards her, but it hurts me so much to hope, even a little, and then have the hope quashed. I simply do not have the capacity to handle that any more.

I am not sure I have much capacity left to handle anything.

And my emails to suoli-list (the Finnish larping email list) are not going through, just when I have had the energy to write up several things to hopefully spark discussion.

And the Certain Someone is throwing his girlfriend a nice birthday weekend in the country.

And I have a lot of matters to handle tomorrow, before the weekend meeting of the SuoLi board.

Just why do I bother? Remind me again...?

I did something not very wise: I read a friend's - oh well, an acquaintance whom I once thought a friend; remember, I have (or don't have, which is sort of the point\) several of those - net diary, and it was full of meetings with people, both ones having to do with things he is occupied with and ones that simply consist of hanging out with friends. And I am dying of envy. And jealousy, as well, because several of those people belong to the aforementioned class of people-I-wanted-to-be-friends-with-but-did-not-qualify.

I am still reading The Uplift War and trying to find more to eat in the kitchen.

This was Thursday on the last week before University should be in full swing.

There is thunder outside.

I wish I could feel anything because of it.

4.9.

Another nothing day - nearly.

I dreamed of being a superpowered creature of some sort in a fantasy adventure - cum - fantasy LARP (I often have dreams where the adventure is half real and half game). At one time, I and a few other people were floating in a sea after a storm and some sort of a wreck (not sure it was a shipwreck actually, so I'll just say wreck), and on the shore where we ended up there was this strange old log house with lots of floors and secret doors and crumbling passages. I guess the sea came from Startide Rising, and the house maybe from last weekend. However, I have no idea where the part where a female friend of mine proceeded to have very determined and utterly fantastic sex with me (and no, this was not a friend who generally performs in my fantasies, and in any case, I don't often dream about sex).

Anni woke me up by phone and asked me to meet her in the shopping centre around three. After that, it was no use sleeping any more. I continued on The Uplift War and surfed half-heartedly. I almost felt like answering some emails and even managed to write a report to a gamemaster - of a game she held in April. I am not sure if the cliche of better-late-etc. even holds there anymore... I did send it in anyway, and started on another, as well as an answer to a message on the LARP mailing list complaining of the lack of discussion. It is still unfinished, however. I will probably end up deleting it. It is never a good idea for me to express opinions. They always end up being battered to pieces, and I end up feeling miserable about myself and my stupidity and my lack of restraint.

Yesterday night, I managed to send text messages to a few people about watching Buffy today, but in the end, no-one turned up, not even the friend who had specifically agreed to come. Oh well, maybe next time (though I do miss social gatherings very much). So we watched Buffy "in the family", with Anni, Lin and later Inka. It was rather more funny than I really expected, though I should have known that - the people who adore it are, after all, the people I want to be. Oh, and I have become a total Angel convert (the guy, not the series, and especially the guy with Buffy). Down with Spike! Down with all spiky-but-suffering bad-but-so-hot boys! It's serious heroes for me all the way...

I had two bad arguments with Anni today - well, more or less bad. The first one was really stupid, and I am glad she did not take it seriously once it had blown over. The other was over something I feel very strongly about, and it was truly, actually bad. I ended up running out of the house and going for a walk with rather inadequate equipment, so Lin ran after me and dragged me back (figuratively speaking, of course). I was tired - I am so tired - and we did not talk about all of it afterwards, we just watched more Buffy.

On a superficial level, I am thankful and flattered that they worry and want to help. On a more meaningful level, I do not believe in their caring. How could I? I have managed to alienate everyone I wanted to please. It is already proven that I am not worth caring about, at least not enough for it to matter.

I feel like writing stories again. But I often have, and the desire has lasted for several false starts and then petered out into nothing. I do not have any stories worth writing about. I have ideas about people and relationships. No stories. Just petrified visions.

Lin promised to kick me out of bed in the morning, if she herself manages to get up before noon. We are going to scrub the kitchen - a task only slightly less exhausting than the stables of Aegeas, and we do not have the spark of godhood on our side, like Hercules had. Still, it might make us feel we have accomplished at least something.

I know my writing syle is wildly uneven. I keep noticing that I have to make an effort to not use the simplest, most boring words and expressions, and I cannot really tell when I swing too wildly either too high or too low.

I want to switch to Finnish. This is ridiculous.

3.9.

Another day of sleeping, eating and reading. I finished Startide Rising and started on The Uplift War, which does not seem very promising. I have been mostly awake all afternoon and evening, which I suppose should be counted a positive thing, and I even got out of the house to buy some food. Now I truly have no money left.

We watched some TV series with my housemates - new seasons of Ally McBeal, Friends and Sex and the City are all on, and they run one after another. I have never been a fan of Friends, but I do like to watch Ally and Sex and the City when I happen to remember that they are on. The latter, especially: its frank approach is so much more refreshing than Ally's old-fashioned obsession with romantic ideals. I only watch Ally for Ling and the occasional good-looking love interests on Ally's way.

Today, Sex and the City was concerned with getting old and not finding a soulmate for life. I would sympathise, so hard even that I would feel even more depressed for my own state - provided that were possible any longer. Since it is not, all I felt was a general, vague irony.

Nothing is going to happen. It will end soon. The only question left is how soon.

2.9.

Nothing. Nothing at all. I slept, and then slept some more. Woke up to several irritating phonecalls and finally to a less irritating one from the dear friend I mentioned in Saturday's entry. We ended up agreeing to meet for coffee next Saturday, as well as him coming to watch the first season of Buffy with us on Wednesday. I also described to him my feelings over last weekend, as well as some recent, not-so-pleasant events. When I asked how he was doing, it seemed he wanted to leave it until we meet face to face.

Everything else was left as a good plan that didn't come to be. I started to read Startide Rising for the first time since I was in highschool, and then I slept some more. Oh, and ate like a little pig, again.

Anni watched a Finnish film in the evening, but I was too tired to take an interest.

There have been no new developments in any direction, and I am too tired to think. The last of my money is running out, and I have debts that will soon become a real problem. I do not have the energy or the courage to ask Mom or Dad to help with them, since it is none of their responsibility anyway, and I simply cannot bear what they would have to say.

And I don't even have a quick plan for getting this diary on-line, as I last week thought I would.

My dreams have been so much more pleasant than reality, again.

29.8.-1.9.

I came home so late on Thursday night (around 5am) that I didn't even think of writing, and on Friday I left for a weekend in Tampere, the fantasy live-action game being on Saturday.

I got up and even got to town in time for the film with Lissu, though not in time to buy tickets (Lissu had to take care of that). I must have spent half an hour trying to find something to wear that would hide the horrible layers of fat I could see in the mirror, and I didn't even realize that more time had passed than five minutes at most. This has happened more often than not lately: I simply cannot bear the thought of going out looking like I do at the moment. Then I always end up wearing the same clothes again and again, and besides, it makes me late all the time (if nothing else has not already occurred to cause that).

In the end, however, I managed to make it just in time. Monster's Ball was several magnitudes better than Minority Report, but watching it was very draining. After the first hour I felt that I could take no more of the anguish and oppression, but luckily, eventually, there was change and even hope. Still, it reminded me of Boys Don't Cry in its depiction of sad, close-minded, suffocated people in small rural towns - no way out, no way to break the twisted heritage of generations that were just as sad and bigoted and close-minded. If there is any truth in these images of the heartlands of America, I cannot but be scared.

And sad and frustrated and angry at myself that there is so much real suffering in the world, and I don't have the energy to be of any use!

However, it was nice to see Lissu again. We had lunch at Rivoletto (Italian food, rather stylish, but not too expensive) and liked it a lot. I had planned on keeping my mouth shut and trying to ask and listen to the other person for a change, but even so, of course I ended up going on and on about my life, or lack of it. Not that Lissu wasn't very nice and supportive - she always is - but I was unhappy with my behaviour anyway. No wonder she never tells me much; whatever I say, it must sound like I cannot be bothered with another person's problems at all.

(Actually, I like listening to other people and trying to help them at least a little. It makes me forget my own problems and makes me feel the tiniest bit useful and trustworthy. However, nearly everyone seems to fear that I would not have the patience or the strength to listen to them.)

Lissu had to go to school at 5.30pm, and I saw her there (it's in Pasila, 5min by train from the centre) and then took the train back, planning to go and see a few of the attractions of the Night of Art. I ended up walking to the National Opera to see their "garage sale" of old opera and ballet costumes, but there were already at least five hundred people queuing to go there, and besides, I had no money anyway. I met a few old acquaintances (Heikki, Arja and Arja's SO) in the line and chatted with them a little, but I felt very awkward and shy with them. I could go into details, but I still have three more days to cover, so maybe some other time.

In general, it just seems that I am not very good at friendships even when I am in good shape. I always think that no-one wants to see me anyway (and now, of course, it has become an unquestionable truth, since no-one can be bothered with my depression any more).

I walked back from the Opera house, met Anni in the centre and debated whether to go and listen to medieval music in the Church of St. Henry, or go and get royally pissed, or simply go home and possibly borrow the car and visit Mom to get the bicycle. We ended up with option three, both of us being tired and not too well (I was coming down with the same flu that Anni still hadn't managed to rid herself of). So I took the car and went to see Mom. I spent a few hours chatting about inconsequential matters, as always (mostly telling stories on past LARPs - a safe subject), and we agreed on Friday's schedule, as I was catching a ride with her and her SO. They were going to the country for the weekend, and the cabin is situated very close to Tampere, so it was really convenient. Then we loaded the bike in the car and I started home.

On the road I had time to remember the argument that Anni and I had (again) before I left, so I started feeling progressively worse. I kept thinking how much easier it would be just to let the car go - except I could not wreck Kalle's car like that, and besides, I was terrified of the possibility of pain. And in the end, I was afraid of the finality of such a thing as well, so I suppose I still cling to some small, stupid hope of a future. However, I was really miserable, so even though it was half past twelve at night, I decided to call Tommi and ask if I could drop by and get some coffee and sympathy for an hour or two.

(For those not on the know: I lived with Tommi for a few years, 96-99, with breaks in between, and he is my first and only true love ever... as I am his. It just so happened that we both had too much emotional baggage, and so the relationship was very difficult, filled with both rare moments of incredible elation and long periods of black despair and horrible pain. In the end, we both learned that there were some things we were not willing to compromise on, and unfortunately, those things were incompatible. But I will never stop loving him, even though I have come to terms with the fact that we would be terribly unhappy together. I actually believe that he was The One, my one and only chance of true love, but that circumstances simply were such that this chance was not to be. Tough luck for us; at least for me; but it happens. I don't believe on there ever being anything comparable to what we had during the good times, and I am not going to settle for anything less. It would feel like settling for cheap imitation, or even deluding oneself. I did that before Tommi, and I will never, ever, ever fall into that trap again!)

In the end, after years of pain and arguments, we have come through to some sort of calm shore on the other side: I know that I can trust him to be on my side; to be a shoulder to cry on. So even at night, when he was already asleep, he got up and made coffee for me and listened to me and tried to cheer me up. And it did help, it really did. Of course it was not a good thing to keep him awake until five in the morning, but he said it was okay. Finally I had to leave to get the car back before I fell asleep (since Anni wanted it in the morning).

(30.9.)

I went straight to bed and got five hours of sleep until I had to get up to start packing and preparing for the game, as Olli was coming to pick me up at three. I was feeling more than a little ill from the flu, and neither my sewing machine nor Lin's were functioning, which meant that I would need to do some hand-sewing at the site again, but I decided that I was going to go through with this anyway. I don't know which it was that kept me going: shame of cancelling, or the hope of seeing a certain someone at last (I had not had any opportunity to see him for more than a month; what reason would there be, unless he had some, and obviously he didn't; we were just acquaintances after all?).

So I packed up in a hurry and only had to make Olli wait for five minutes or so, which for me nowadays is nearly a record. We loaded my stuff in the car, with him looking very curiously at my fur skins (one big moose calf skin and two huge sheepskins, for sleeping on in period style, and besides, I don't own a sleeping bag), and drove to pick Mom up and then start for Tampere. I was feeling the effects of the flu and tried to sleep on the way, but was not very successful. We stopped once to eat, and Mom gave me some money, which kind of saved my weekend (though of course I immediately spent most of it on things I "absolutely needed", like hairspray and eyebrow pencil - and believe me, I truly feel I do absolutely need them to save what I can of my appearance).

At the Tampere railway station, I met Dubghall (or however he spells it; it's his SCA name, and that's where I met him years ago), and we went to the Waffle Cafe and then to a very nice pub with lots of soft armchairs and mirrors and candles and an overall cosy atmosphere. Moira (a friend from SuoLi and now Dougie's live-in girlfriend) could not make it: she was at home, preparing for a party they were throwing on Saturday. I was rather sad not to see her - there was a time when she said she wanted to be my friend - but I guess that has changed as well, and in any case, if she had things to do I did say that we could go to their place and help her do the cleaning and baking and stuff, but it was supposedly not a good idea.

So once again, I ended up pouring out a load of stuff to someone. D. was very understanding and supportive and really wanted to help, but well, he's in Tampere, and in any case, it's not like it is in any way his responsibility.

I got a call from the organizers of the game that I should be at the railway station twenty past nine, when they were picking someone up from the train, so I could also get a ride. Dougie accompanied me back to the station, which was nice, since we had to wait for quite a bit longer than the appointed time, and I was nervous, having no idea who my ride would be and how I could recognize them. In the end, they turned up, and so did the other people for the ride. I didn't know any of them, but apparently some of them knew who I was. We talked about larps and stuff on the way to the site, which was a big log cabin behind a lake twelve kilometres from the centre of Tampere.

I must say I have rarely seen a site more suitable for a fantasy game situated in a medieval-style country inn: a big hall two stories high, all made of logs, with kitchen, some small rooms, a balcony and a room upstairs at the other end, and a huge, whitewashed fireplace at the other end. There was a long porch and a second-story balcony that could be reached from inside and by stairs from the porch. The only negative aspects of the place were the lack of any kind of cleaning facilities - no sauna, no running water except in the kitchen, only outdoor toilets. However, for the game atmosphere, it was perfect.

I spent the evening sewing, chatting with the people I knew, and getting comfortable with last-minute details on my character, as well as some of the people I was going to play with. I felt surprisingly okay, considering that the Certain Someone was sitting next to me and his girlfriend was sitting in his lap. It's not like I could do anything about the situation even if it was right to do so, so I simply concentrated on behaving like a normal person in a normal situation. Besides, I had a few plans to talk about with the Girlfriend, who happens to share some hobbies with me. She is nice; there is a lot going on in her head; and she is incredibly beautiful and thin; so I could not compete with her even if it made any sense in any other way either.

I wish I could not want him so badly. I wish I could not, every single moment, know where he is and what he is doing even if I am not even looking in his direction. I wish I could be over it.

But I am not. I am not, no matter how little attention he pays me. And it hurts, all the time.

It was a positive surprise already that when I got there he greeted me in a friendly manner and asked how I was doing. That is all I can have; all I can hope for.

Wishing is another matter.

Anyway, I did not behave badly; I did not make any scenes; I was very sociable and nice. I suppose a lot of that sort of got into a positive feedback loop: it was nice to be able to be in a social situation for a change, with people one does not see every day, and to see that one can behave oneself and be nice. Of course it was all on a rather superficial level, but even so, it was a positive experience, and I haven't had too many of those lately.

I got to sleep very comfortably on my furs in a quiet corner of the upstairs room, so I was not as ill in the morning as I had feared. I took up my sewing again as the last of the players began to arrive and the preparations continued around me. The game finally started around four (? I think), so I was well finished before that. Since my character was described as a "young, beautiful, kind orphan girl married to an older farmer", and most of the other players were under twenty, I worked really hard on both my hair and makeup as well as my body language to give the impression of someone young, sweet, rather introverted and submissive.

It seemed to work better than I hoped, and so did the whole game. I had a great time! The character and the plots could not have been more satisfying if I had had them made to order, and relations with the other characters were smooth and delightfully real, considering that all those who played my closest contacts were strangers to me. It is never easy to create the illusion of intimacy born of long friendship or family relationship to someone whom you have just met, but I had no complaints in this particular game. A few people were clearly new to intense in-game relationships, but even then they were quite adequate.

Yes, the game relied heavily on soapish relationship plots (especially the kind were true lovers have been separated years ago because of an argument or outside circumstances and now meet again) as well as secret agents from this or that secret society - but it all worked very smoothly. After more than 150 live-action games, I am all for dynamic cliches against static "realism": movies or plays are not made out of those moments of the character's lives where nothing happens, either (nor are most books, though a book is a different medium to experience and does not need to hold the intense interest of the receiver continuously).

Of course, both logic and believability are very important in the construction of a live-action game and its world, but I believe inner logic can work even when the concentration of dynamic, dramatic events is greater than it would be in the real world.

However, after the game my satisfaction lasted only for so long before it started to slowly fade, and I began to feel like an outsider once more. The people I was most comfortable with had left during the debriefing, and there is only so much energy I have to spend to keep up appearances and interesting anecdotes to strangers. The Certain Someone was still present, but he had ended up in a chat with two very pretty and vivacious teenage girls, and with them was the only other person left that I knew and might have talked to seriously. Nothing in the world could have persuaded me to invade their cosy little circle, and in the end I decided that the best way to handle my misery was to go to sleep, so I would not bother anyone. So I did.

The one positive moment of that late night was hugging a dear friend who was leaving early: we haven't been in touch for a while due to some misunderstandings, but at that moment it seemed that they were past, and we could go on now... He even mentioned phoning and going out for coffee or something soon again, and it almost made my day - night - whatever. It would have, easily, if all my senses and all my mind were not completely filled with someone else and the pain of knowing how hopeless it is.

I actually noticed something rather ironic during the game: the Certain Someone being there helped me to portray my character better, since this character was still desperately in love with an old flame of hers, though she was now married to someone else. I noticed how as a real person I was all too conscious of where he was and what he was doing - how even when I only saw him from the corner of my eye all my perception was filled with information on him - so I used this insight to transfer the same reactions to the aforemetioned old flame of my character. I have no idea if this was useful and harmless, or simply worrisome. Bittersweet, certainly, and simply bitter, as well.

(1.9.)

In the morning the misery persisted, especially since the wake-up call came painfully early to my taste and my state (is that a pun? if it is, it's a lousy one). I fumbled my way to awareness and to acceptable appearance in front of civilized society (not easy when you are in a place with no sanitation facilities, suffer from a flu and on top of it, from the day of the month when you bleed like a horse).

Slowly I reached the edge of the hole that the evening had dumped me into, packed up and pottered around long enough to find something helpful to do, though I fear my help was rather cosmetic this time around. I even managed to perk myself up far enough to ask the Certain Someone if he wanted to have a cup of coffee with me once we got to Tampere, and he agreed. (I wasn't catching my ride until the evening anyway, and before that, I was going to go see another friend.)

Jonni - the only other friend left at the site - finally agreed to drive a carful of us to Tampere. Once there, we - me and the C.S. - headed for the Waffle Cafe again. I was carrying all my belongings, and despite the fact that he said he could have carried other people's stuff, he did not agree to take my bundle of furs even when I asked (I guess the remark only pertained to the belongings of thin, cute, red-headed teenage girls). At the cafi, he refused my offer of anything, even coffee. Ashamed though I was, I took a cup of coffee and a taco waffle. After all this, I still managed to stay calm (how, I have no idea) and act as if everything was absolutely charming, thank you, and we had rather a pleasant chat over past and future games and a few snippets of gossip.

Yes, I know. All sensible people reading this will ask me why I put up with something like this. Because I - don't know if I love him; don't know if I have the right to call it love - but because I need his nearness like water or air. Because just to see him in relatively positive circumstances is a drink of water in the desert. It may not be a full lake of crystal-clear waves to immerse oneself in, but it still saves your life and helps you to move on in the dry land. It does not matter if the water is pure and sweet or too warm and too bitter and too little an amount, it still is water. And for that, I can put up with anything. I can wait for a month, or two, for the next drink. I can be glad for it and plod on. I have a thirst for him that I cannot kill; cannot forget; cannot slake with anything else.

Yes, it might be called obsession - if I ever did anything unpleasant or persistent because of it. But I try not to, I try so hard, so very hard not to do anything else than what he himself gives leave to. A game here, plans for another there. That's all. And it's not a lie, since he knows how I feel.

And what could I have to give anyone, even someone who welcomed my attention, being in the shape and situation I am?

I talk a lot about this sort-of-not-obsession because it is something that can be talked about; something of a conceivable size and shape. Many of my problems are too big, too painful, too difficult to form into words and concepts; rounds in the spiral that goes ever down; clouds of darkness all around me.

Deserts of fear.

For some reason, despite all the fear I live and breathe in, I do not fear him or whatever he might say or do to me. I suppose it is because I already know - we both know - where we stand: he could not care less, while I have not yet managed to stop caring. The little good, the little humanity that there is yet left in me, shows in the fact that I can still care, and I refuse to be ashamed of it.

But of course it still hurts.

We went back to the station; he looked up a train to go to his school, and I left to see Irrette and her new cats. She lives quite close to the station, so I managed to carry all my stuff, camel-like, to her place. The cats were cute once one got used to their sleek looks - a Siamese and an Oriental - and very friendly, as well. They used to belong to another acquantaince who could not keep them any more.

We chatted about things, mostly about my past games, since when I asked about what was going on in her life, she only pointed at the cats, and I had nothing else worth talking about besides the games. I was left feeling vaguely unsatisfied and unhappy with myself and my inability to connect. I borrowed the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer from her - I have only seen a few episodes every now and then, though I have an overall idea of the characters and most of the plot, and decided it was time to educate myself on said subject of popular culture before it is gone altogether. (Before last Christmas, Irrette actually tried to give me and Anni a crash course on Buffy and Angel especially, but somehow I simply did not catch the fever then.)

(Oh yes, and that was the first time Anni and a few other people made a very emphatic decision that I needed professional help. That was, what, nine months ago?)

Mom called and agreed on a time to come and pick me up. I took a quick shower and then proceeded to make a fool of myself by not being able to direct them to Irre's place, even though it seemed so simple to me when walking from the station However, they found us, I got on, and got home in the end. Again, I tried to sleep on the road, but the radio was on, and I cannot sleep when I hear stupid people talking about stupid things and for some reason, I rarely hear anything else than stupid people and stupid things on the radio. What is it with them? Is there some sort of intelligence-lowering filter in the ether? Or is it that only stupid people lack the self-consciousness to realize how stupid everyone sounds on the radio?

(And there is absolutely nothing more horrible than Finnish radio advertising. It's not only me. Ask the friends who shared the car on the way to Oulu in June. We were all agreed on that one.)

However, I got home, tried my best to be social, since people were hanging around in the kitchen, but was too tired, so I went to bed.

28.8.02

I used to say that I go mad every August. Then the expression got too loaded, but August is still a strange month, the one that is most concerned with Time - maybe because it is clearly the one least stably attached to it. These soft, dark nights where the wind blows from eternity are enough to drive anyone to stop thinking and be drowned in feeling.

Not that it is any remarkable change from how my brain has functioned for quite some time already. They say depression does make one stupid - that it hinders the brain's ability to function logically. And it is not like I have been having a Feeling Festival ((C) Carrie Fisher) either: most of my feelings are comprised of an irritating, dull ache between flashes of crushing embarrassment and slashes of sharp, burning agony.

Anyway, today was like any other weekday lately: slept late, was woken up by people moving around, or in this case, the cat - who has returned from another pampered stay at Anni's parents' place - who came to my room yelling for food. I didn't want to wake up, so I threw him out, closed my door, turned off the lights (I had fallen asleep with them on, I suppose in an attempt to sleep lightly and that way get more fun out of my dreams), burrowed under the sheets and promptly went back to sleep until noon. The day had promised better, since Lissu and I were supposed to meet for lunch in the city at 1pm, but as I dragged myself marginally closer to the world of the living, loving, breathing creatures by logging on, I noticed from the net pages of the national newspaper, Helsingin Sanomat, that there had been a problem with railway operations in Southern Finland, and all local trains were expected to be late for all afternoon; citizens were strongly encouraged to take the bus. Wonderful. I was not going to make it in any reasonable time with the bus, and Lissu was going to school at 4. We rescheduled for tomorrow, but that sort of took the day back to the Desert of Dull Ache.

Anni called from work and asked what I was planning for the day (as if I ever had any plans - oh well, the lunch plan was a rare exception and is therefore to be strictly held to tomorrow). We thought of going to the movies once I had had my lunch, but when that was cancelled, we decided to meet at home and then go to the local cinema, here in Tikkurila (a part of Vantaa which is a satellite city? of Helsinki, basically, the suburbs), to see Minority Report later in the evening.

So I stayed home and took care of some personal correspondence, such as clarifying for Syksy some things about why I suddenly and without explanation dropped out of a mini-campaign of Exalted (roleplaying) that he had graciously asked me to join. I was and still am terribly ashamed of doing so, since I really, really wanted to be able to play that short campaign through; to show myself and others that I was able to play, to be resilient and resourceful and bright-natured enough to carry through eight-hour roleplaying sessions (even though most of the time I can barely stick to one thing for two minutes). I managed this for two sessions (one in between I had to pass - migraine - though probably stress-induced, as it almost always is with me - and even before that I was late in reading and preparing for the game), but then other things took away my filmy layer of strength, and it was down to bare bone again. At the time (Sunday afternoon and then again on Monday) I was so low that I could not even answer the phone especially not after blowing it anyway by oversleeping and then missing even the next bus, and the next day after blowing the whole of the day before.

Yes, of course I should have called and explained. It is the measure of my fear and pain that eplaining even that much was unthinkably frightful, and that no matter how right it would have been to call, the fear was a stair too high to step over.

And I honestly, absolutely did not expect it to go like that.

I had not received any answers to certain other letters I wrote yesterday, which was depressing in itself. Everything becomes a source for lowering the spirit even more: if I get no answer to an email, preferably in a few hours, I am certain that the person simply does not bother to answer me, because I am not worth it. (This is the case even now, in the evening, when I have received no answers from a couple of friends I hope to meet during the weekend when I happen to be in their neighbourhood.)

Back to the present: some Internet, a shower, and I even got enough out of myself to cook myself some Real Food. All right, it was only pasta, some salami, and sauce out of a bag, but it still required mixing, heating and stirring stuff, which is more than I can bother most of the time. I have never been much of a culinarist - I love good food, and I like baking - but I cannot go through the toil and trouble of cooking for one or even two. I only cook for parties, and since my record for giving parties is almost nonexistent for the past three years Generally I find myself cooking when someone is watching, for one reason or another. But anyway, yesterday I decided (for the 427 396th time in my life) that I needed to eat in a healthier manner, and I suppose a warm meal is an improvement on my regular diet recently.

Oh yes, in addition to the depression, I have been bulimic ever since I was thirteen.

So we noticed we were in rather a hurry, and Anni took the bicycle while I only had my legs to rush me through the town and to the movie theatre. It was a very nice place, well-equipped and comfortable, and there was a cosy smalltown atmosphere that reminded me of my early teenage years of living Vihti, a small village, though not far from Helsinki (the same person was both selling us tickets and refreshments and letting us into the auditorium).

Minority Report well, it was watchable, and as I remarked to Anni after the film, it might have been a true masterpiece if directed by someone else, someone less sentimental and manipulative. It had some very impressive visual effects (even a few that were utterly beautiful), and there were times when it managed to keep me in suspense for quite long stretches. I also find Tom Cruise very easy to watch as an actor (and it has little to do with how attractive he is or isn't - I have always been rather selective on which movie stars make me drool, which is kind of odd, considering how I am Mrs. Mediocre in everything else - but in any case Mr. Cruise does not belong to that select club).

(Oh well, if you must know, my list of Stars-I-Would-Bed-In-A-Second-If-They-Asked includes the following names, and the following names only:

1. John Cusack (brains, looks and humour - heck, I would marry him in a second)
2. Russell Crowe
3. Lucy Liu
4. Leonardo diCaprio (yes, I know - so embarrassing)
5. Matt Damon

There have been weak moments when I have wondered if I could resist Ewan McGregor or James Franco either, but luckily none of these temptations are likely to come my way. And I would bed Stephen Fry any time, anywhere, were he not both gay and celibate.)

So, Cruise was good. And the visuals were good. And the story premise was good. However, as a whole, I was less than impressed. All in all, one of those films that one needs to see to know what others are talking about (it was sci-fi, after all), but no more.

We both agreed that the ending was not altogether believable, though we seemed to have a different interpretation on whether the film presented this ending as positive or negative. I won't spoil it for others, though.

Lissu had called while we were at the movies and left a message: she said tomorrow is a cheap day at Finnkino's movie theatres and whether I would like to see something before lunch. Of course I said yes once I was out of this one, and we agreed on Monster's Ball. About a Boy was another possibility, but I really do not think I could bear to watch a romantic comedy right now (besides, I am most emphatically not a Hugh Grant fan). Drama is easier, for now. Happiness and romance simply increases my own shame: if I were even reasonably, ordinarily attractive and nice, I could have something along those lines in my life as well, but I'm not, so I can't.

Anni and I picked up Lin's bicycle from the railway station, where I had taken it a few days ago and then taken another way home, so I had not had time to bring back. She gave me permission to use it while she's in the military, though Mom also promised me her bike, and I am actually going to get that one this week or the next, once I get to borrow the car.

Lin is actually coming home on Friday: she has to interrupt her service due to shoulder injury and subsequent need of operation, so she'll be around for a few months at least. Anni said that they had talked about my current condition, and that Lin is willing to stick around here during the day and see that I go to my appointments even if she has to drag me by the hair (and I do not doubt for a second that she would, too).

Anni is the one with the plans, not me, though if she can find the time and inclination to give me the initiative I cannot exhibit myself no matter what - to fight the fight to get professional and continuous help that I cannot believe myself entitled to - I will be more than glad. More indeed: I will be alive. Otherwise, I doubt it strongly. All other straws have broken; all other roads have crumbled or been buried. It is terrible to place such a burden on such young shoulders (she will be twenty in November), and I would not, but she says she takes it anyway. And therefore, there is a fragile strand of light: my only hope; my last and only.

Time to go to sleep, or at least to bed. I was going to go out with Jero (Kalle's dog, a Belgian Shepherd), but it is already almost 2am, and if I go into that silent, cool night, I will not be able to avoid thinking and feeling, and right now, I know it would be unbearable.

Tomorrow, hopefully - Lissu, movie, lunch, the annual Helsinki Night of Art maybe. We'll see.

Oh, and I am fat as a barrel, and in desperate need to look at least bearable on Saturday. We all know how it goes: the more desperate I get, the more I eat. I wonder if I will break before Saturday's game, or after, when it has been just as awful personally as I feared. (No, I do not expect this particular live-action game to be generally bad - not at all, a lot of it looks really nice - but I know how much I hope to get at least something positive out of it, and how improbable this is, when I am fat and old and feeling miserable in the middle of all those teenagers.)

(And besides - a cause of both despair and stupid, laughable little hope - a certain someone will be there. I know I can expect nothing good from him, and I will certainly not demand a single thing; indifference would be the most one can hope for; but I just want to see him. That's how pitiful I have become.)