Is it really a year since I've felt compelled to write in this thing? Well, at least there'll be one entry for every year since 2005.

Three and a half weeks ago, Sophie left me.

It still isn't any easier to say or even think.

I wanted to kill myself. I keep wanting to kill myself. I tried ODing on Fluoxetine, but I didn't put a lot of effort into it- only took five pills- so all I got out of it was a well-deserved headache for the next couple of days. I keep thinking about stepping under a train or going down to the woods with a length of cable and stringing myself up- can see it in my head. I think I probably say this every time I come to write on DeviantArt, but I have never ever felt this awful. For three weeks I've been crying and crying and crying and wondering why- WHY!- this had to happen. I haven't even begun to even be able to conceive of getting a handle on the whole thing.

Sophie came back from Japan in August. I met her at Heathrow- can see it as clear as day in my head. We sorted out a place to live eventually, got ourselves a lovely little flat in Brockley. Moved in. I lost my job, was unemployed for just over four months. It sucked- I went back on meds for a bit, which helped, then I found a new job that I started in February. And then, a month later, the worst blow of my life. I brought it about. We'd had a bad evening. I'd wanted to go to the Science Museum, she hadn't, we'd ended up not going because I didn't want to go by myself but I was cross because it was pretty much the extent of my social life that week. But it'd picked up a bit, we'd had a nice dinner, watched LotR:FotR. Then we went to bed and I asked her what was wrong, because I could see something was bothering her. Then there was the longest most awful silence ever. And I realised what was about to happen. Eventually she told me she didn't think she could be my girlfriend anymore, and there was an awful lot of self-justification and 'it's not you, it's me'- she's selfish, she wants to just go and do her own thing, she doesn't think she can give me what I need in a girlfriend- which I tried to counter as best I could, desperate to try and turn her around. I went in and out of the bedroom and sobbed my heart out again and again. Finally she agreed that we could make a go of it, but that she needed some space, which was better than nothing. I slept fitfully and the next few days were vile.

On Sunday she rang me and we arranged to meet back at the flat, where she told me, after I had said my piece on addressing everything she'd brought up on the Wednesday (which I'd hoped would work), that she didn't love me. And something broke in my head, and I started writing goodbye notes to my family and everyone else. I said goobye to David. If Simon hadn't come and got me I don't know what might've happened. He took me back to my parents, and my mum looked after me.

No more of this for now, it's too upsetting. I thought writing would help but it's not.