i'm hiding in my room. for the first time ever i think since coming to London, i've been hiding in my room for the past three days. i go out to the communal areas of the house only when i have no choice. trying to stay most of the day outside the house.

it started with a picture in the toilet. there was a photograph of a toy-monkey sitting on a cash till. the story of the original photograph goes back more than a year ago; maybe i'll tell it some other day. but now it seemed like someone had tampered with the photograph; the head of the monkey was replaced with my head. smiling, unshaved, i looked like a griffin. when i saw this first i pretended to be cool about it. i said it was funny. and i went to bed.

i woke up feeling awful. i hated it. i was sure G. made it. i was so angry. i felt horrible. i took off from the wall and put it in his room, writing on the back, asking if he intended to hurt me.

but it wasn't him. it was michael. and when i realized it, late that night, it all felt like the tritest comdey-of-errors. unfunny, boring, the taste of dead ashes in my mouth. now i felt even worse. i wanted to die. i don't know why. the picture was quite cute, i think. i know the last thing michael would want is to hurt me. one day i'll think it through; why is my reincarnation as a griffin, sitting on a cash till, made me feel like all my wounds are open and gaping, like all my weaknesses are visible for everybody to laugh at. one day i'll need to think about it, to find something about myself. maybe i'll even put it up on my wall, to work it through. but not now. all i can do now is to hide here. Sara is the only one to come in and out of this room. my only human contact. i'm glad she's back. her presence is doing me good.
i eat in my room, drink tea, listen to music. there's something nice about it. it feels like my safe place in the world. i want my room to be this place. i've not spent much time here in four months; bringing myself here (to read, to write). was always a struggle - the lounge always seemed more exciting. now i 'm discovering it: my little corner in London, where i have a deep blue armchair, a school desk to write on, something that functions for a stereo, my books, my scrap-book-wall.
in a way, it's not so surprising. i've been living in communal houses for two and a half years. now living with 11 people in one house; as i am slowly emerging from my summer depression, it's not unlikely that i will freak out. maybe the real question is why it didn't happen before. but no, gloom gloom go away. do not give in: maybe it's just my winter's retreat. we all need to be alone sometimes.