Borderline Royal Blood

I'm still very much in the early stages of accepting my official diagnosis.

There's a lot that comes with the parcel marked 'Here's What's Wrong With You' and amongst the general turmoil of it being a real thing, there's a lot of relief, a sense that you at least slot in somewhere, you're not the solitary single fuck up that nobody can work out.

Through your abnormality, your very diagnosable abnormality, you are a little bit regular.

That's what I tell myself, anyway, until I read that less than 1% of people have been diagnosed with what I've got and it's tough as fuck to really pinpoint.

At least I'm not being made to feel like I've just been hunting for a label, some brown paper tag on a piece of string that gives me license to be a shit.

I had a very long, very complex dream about pool halls and being a new character within a computer game that someone was playing. I was lying on a sofa with my head resting on someone's lap and there was a level of peace that came from that which is still resonating with me now, a full half hour after I woke up. It's strange and comforting and I can't figure it out at all.

Maybe I just need a damn cuddle, maybe my dreams need to stop taunting me with things I just don't have.