OK. I don’t actually know where to begin. You know, when I started writing this diary I was fucking scared, not because I thought anyone would find out, but more of what people would say. I braced myself for an onslaught of “lol u fuckin loser fuck off who cares” etc., and was prepared to read a page of comments detailing quite how pathetic a human being I am – or worse to have no comments at all, the diary slowly slipping off the page into nothingness, till Platform told me to fuck off. But I was not expecting to have my actual existence questioned.

I can understand why.  There’s not many people who are arrogant enough to believe their life is worthy of hearing about, let alone reading on a weekly basis.  But I dunno.  For me it wasn’t arrogance, I guess it was more that writing these entries regularly made me feel, well fucking good to be honest!  And when people were actually nice…well that was the best thing ever.  (That said I still remember everyone who was cuntish, their names and the exact words they used.  And yes I have spent on average 30 mins a week fuming over some stupid comment, the author of which probably didn’t think two seconds about).   There have been doubters/haters from the beginning, but to sit here and read this sudden turn to complete disbelief really gets to me.

So that’s where I am now really.  I don’t know if I can see the point in continuing if each time I write an entry it’s just going to be an identity witch-hunt, which yeah is a shame, but I can’t really be arsed.  And for the record, I admit now that there have been times when I’ve embellished my daily life in order to make it a bit funnier or more interesting, but embellish a fucking email?? Come on, if I was going to lie surely it would be about something a little more exciting – YEAH I FUCKED LUCY IN HER PARENTS BED etc.