I'm feeling much better now, I realize that things aren't so bad as maybe I always think they might be, I don't really want to be anything but myself, and I am glad that despite my failings, my close friends will accept me for that.

Several things helped to improve my mood. Tonight on the ABC, there was a documentary on Sidney Cotton, an Australian aviator and aerial spy over Germany just before WWII. The story had my brother playing a small role as a German SS officer, and although I feel somewhat eerie about seeing him in the black uniform with swastika armband, it was really cool seeing him on TV. I somewhat doubt however, that he would have been as thrilled to see me marching in the Mardi Gras.
Another thing was that quite a while ago I bought a long black plain camisole. I didn't really like it very much when I got it, but now… well, now I actually do have breasts (is that pseudo-cleavage? Oh my God!), and even something approaching hips. The thin straps do not totally overemphasize my shoulders, so I guess I'm grateful there. To put it rather more simply, I feel… well, sexy. Not overtly sexual in a suspenders and corset type way, but in a more simple undefined way. Probably to anyone else, I am anything but sexual, but at least to myself I finally feel this way. Thirdly I received an email which helped to rest my mind a great deal.
When I write, I try to be interesting and meaningful. Not just for any readers, but more importantly for myself. I try to sever the connection between thinking about what I want to write and writing it. I want to dump the contents of my heart onto the keyboard without them being processed, filtered or altered by my conscious. In the sense that I want photos which capture the natural state of my physical being, and similarly in trying to express the feelings of my heart which have to be attempted to be put in words. The problem is that as I feel more and more, less and less adequate do the words seem to be. In writing happy emails, I simply turn up my bouncy dance music so loud that I literally cannot think, but what about when I want to write about things which are so much more complex than mere cheeriness?

10:25 pm - I slightly lied last night when I said I don't have any old clippings which nurtured me through dark eras. Right in front of me, stuck to the bookshelf, is a card from the Interchange General Practice with the appointment date of 3:00 pm Friday 23rd July 1999. Maybe that isn't necessarily a window on more unpleasant times, but rather one of the doors which opened the way to my new sense of well-being and happiness.