Tuesday 4th October 1999
Dear Diary,
As I am brushing my teeth, I often unbutton my shirt, drop my trousers and stare at my flesh in the mirror. I don't believe this is a common habit. It's not one that I've ever heard mentioned by anyone else, though I myself have never mentioned it to anyone either. The purpose of this ritual, I think, is to learn the shape of my body so that I can tell when it grows or shrinks. That ends up being the outcome anyway – all I know is that it brings me comfort to stare at my body and know in that moment exactly how much space I occupy.
American Mandy wants to go on a date with me. I am undecided about what to do. Not only do dates involve food, but they often involve kissing or touching or sex and I can't say that I'm completely over the disgusting guilty feeling acquired from the last sweaty escapade. Perhaps sex is just not for me. Mandy herself is nice enough. She seems to like me a lot, which is not something I'm terribly used to. Aside from the odd pleasant casual acquaintance at school, I have never had friends. Friendship was always something to be watched and observed from the outside; never something to be felt. I feel hunger and guilt, not friendship, never friendship. Perhaps this is why I'm struggling so much with food again now; because I'm being presented with the possible friendship of such lovely, genuine people and I simply don't know how to react. It's out of my comfort zone, and so the food brings me back to the safety and the predictability. It's tedious, yes, but it's calming and familiar.
Sherlock Holmes
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