Extracts from my father’s diary (4)


Dear Miss X

I desperately want your love.  I won’t love you back, I’m afraid.  I’m far too selfish for that besides after a time you will begin to remind me of my mother so I will be busy revolting against you running away from you.  But I want you to be there to care, someone must care and you could.

When I am depressed nothing, no one exists, but nor do I exist to anyone; if you were there and I was depressed at least I would exist to you.  & You would exist to me; you would be my source of depression; and I would think of women more beautiful than you, or more gay; women with whom I would be happier.  Not that there probably are.  But you would be someone there; a hand; a head.

You might even forgive me.  I would feel remorse whilst now there is nothing to feel remorse about.

But I would break it.  Break break break; I break anything precious if I’m given time enough.

Dear Miss X look out on this life of ruin, of selfishness of will.  A life tied to a wheel of depressions and exhilarations, drink and moods and sex.

While there is yet time god blot out this piece of blackness and save one more Mrs X from a life long doom with one more unpleasant Mr X.

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