Everyone thinks I'm an alcoholic. Perhaps I am.

It's interesting reading some articles on depression, most conclude that no problem can never be sorted, which is completely wrong. I think one of the reasons I so regularly break down (I know, I sound like a used car) is the fact that some of my problems are going to last the rest of my life. Said articles usually suggest sharing the problems with someone too, something else which is easy for some well-meaning person to write down and yet something I'd find harder than gauging out my eyes with a corkscrew.

I get so incredibly depressed about a life I involuntarily inflict upon myself, that I have finally admitted defeat and let the Internet's blogging fashion assimilate my thoughts. So here goes.

My life seems to be saturated in hypocrisy and irony, all emanating from me.

For example, I do so hate people asking me if I'm gay or not. My answer is irrelevant - they will always think I am (I'm extremely camp...and gay) - but I always answer 'no' which will of course just lead to more people asking me, because every individual (regardless of what they've been told) needs, for some reason, individual assurance that I'm not.