at first i didn't recognise the handwriting on the postcard; i thought the words must have been written by the artist. you don't believe how ugly i am. 10.38 pm, 29 december 2002. odd, i thought, just before the shock of recognition hit. my writing. me.

i found four in total. four out of hundreds in this box of free postcards i've been collecting since 2001, all written on the same night and completely forgotten.

. . . . .

29 december 2002

9.26 pm
i feel fat and empty. dogs next door are barking. we are all trying to escape something.

even escape is an illusion.

. . . . .

9.46 pm
i think i would feel better if i could sit on the kitchen floor and eat things with my hands but the trouble with people who love you is that you have to protect them from yourself and so sitting on the kitchen floor eating things with my hands is not an option. madness is not an option.

. . . . .

9.53 pm
this is easier now, breaking it up into little pieces like it doesn't have to go together at all.

. . . . .

10.38 pm
you don't believe how ugly i am.