Dear Diary,
Any bog-standard therapist will tell you that the basis of all good human relationships is trust. You can have all the other things but if you don't have trust the relationship will crumble and, Diary, I don't trust you anymore. True, we've had our ups and downs. I liked you/me when you/me said I was funny or had great taste in bands and disliked you/me when you/me said I was fat or repulsive to men, but now I see I wasn't hating you/me enough. I'm not just fat and repulsive, I'm a terrible friend as well. If you go to the library in Stamford and head for the aisle by the toilets you'll find a whole load of books about "self-loathing" and how to "vanquish it".
People with name like Barbara or Tony tell you to embrace your "authentic being" and stop hating yourself, but what if some people deserve to be hated? You wouldn't tell a serial killer to forgive himself, or the guy that invented the atom bomb. So why should someone who left her best friend in the hands of a coked-up twenty-four year old called Ian forgive herself? Seeing myself through Chloe's eyes has made me question the whole point of this diary. Don't hate me if I don't come back. I'll probably have moved into novels. At least they'll have more truth in them.
