This is a recording of Diazepam Diaries. My audio/video skills are very amateur so forgive me, please?
Today I am that moment when you look in the mirror and see only that one spot on your entire face. That cluster of blackheads on your nose, those few stray hairs between your brows. Today I am that hungover moment in a tube station, when you are scared your own organs might dishonour you, rack against your ribs and throw you onto the tracks all guts and squished electricity. Today I am corduroy rubbed backwards on your thigh on the way to work. I am the frizz of a curled eyelash when you catch yourself with a pranked lighter outside a squat party, trying to impress the girl opposite you chewing her bubblegum. Today I am still cherryade at a school disco. A text message which won’t deliver. I am a missed appointment, an irredeemable voucher. A dropped call. Today I am a retracted comment in a newspaper by an ex-Labour minister. That empty vowel sound of woosh as a door slams closed.