I've wanted to write for so long but am constantly beset by doubts and feelings of inadequacy. I know that what I need to do is write through this and that eventually there will be some reward. Anyway, I've written this and would appreciate any comments. Even if you only read one paragraph before deciding that you don't like it, I'd like to know why. I sit staring at an empty screen. It taunts me with its blankness; somehow inferring that I cannot do it, I am unable to create anything of worth, I will not succeed. My dog sits at my feet. He looks up at me – pleadingly. There’s an hour to go until his dinner time but he wouldn’t mind going for a walk. He’s already been on one today but he thinks that walking along a beach, chasing balls in infinitely more worthwhile than sitting in front of a computer. Maybe he’s right. Times are difficult now. There is so much that needs to be written. I want to do it in a way which will make sense for people who read this later. I want to do it in a way which makes it pleasurable to read this later. I am sometimes overcome by a lack of belief but shouldn’t let that stop me, right? He left yesterday. It was my fault. Now I don’t know what to do. I really don’t know what to do and it strikes me as though sitting in front of a computer is the least likely thing to help me although it will provide some sort of explanation for people afterwards – I think that’s why I’m doing it, just in case. We always had problems. Our relationship was born out of destruction and strife. People had to be hurt. We were also hurt. I wonder if I ever really got over that hurt. I lost so many people and so much certainty. There was a before and there was an after and I was utterly changed. I felt a huge loss. It wasn’t really fair to expect that he should fill that space in me but that was what I demanded. I pushed and pushed for him to give me more and more until finally he was unable. He left; tired and depleted. There was nothing else he could do. Perhaps this is how it is supposed to be. Maybe now I’ll get better. Most likely I’ll get worse. The first time I knew was shortly after I started to work for him. I was young then and perhaps I was very naïve. I thought that communication and connection was the most important thing and that all people were searching for these things. Now I wonder whether married people are supposed to share their feelings and fears with others, maybe they should only be open with their partners. Actually, I think this is bullshit and if I had to do it all over again, I would still be as open and interested in communication as I was then. I have compromised on enough of my principles. I refuse to give up on another. We talked a lot. We shared a lot of our past experiences and spent time relating who we were and why we thought we had become that way. I liked him a lot and was glad to have found a real friend in the home town to which I had so recently returned. One day, he had to leave early and I was to stay behind on my own. He hesitated as he was walking out the door and said that he felt strange leaving me in such a curt, cold manner. He said it felt as though it would be more appropriate to give me a hug. I told him to go ahead as I believe in being affectionate with all my friends. Awkwardly, he put his arms around me and held me tight. I knew. I knew he wanted to be more than just friends. The first guilt was shortly afterwards. I went to a concert and he and his wife were there. He sent a drink over to my table. I felt deceitful and could hardly drink it. I went to the bathroom and could feel his eyes on my body as I walked past his table. While I was washing my hands, his wife walked in and started to touch up her make up. She joked about the constant effort it is to please men. I felt sick.