Depression comes in bouts. Like boxing. Dad is in the blue corner.

After that, we had a short conversation about how your body can sometimes seem totally separate. She said her body can feel like a distant bureaucracy controlled by telegrams from her brain, and I said my body is sometimes like that of Mario Mario, being controlled with a Nintendo joypad. Mario's surname is Mario.

...I want to grab her collarbones as if they were handlebars.

I took a photo of us, mid-embrace. When I am old and alone I will remember that I once held something truly beautiful.

I find that the only way to get through life is to picture myself in an entirely disconnected reality. I often imagine how people would react to my death. Mr Dunthorne's quavering voice as he makes the announcement. The shocked faces of my classmates. A playground bedecked with flowers. The empty stillness of a school corridor. Local news analysis. . . . The steady stoicism of my parents. . . . Candlelit vigils. . . . And finally, my glorious resurrection.

Write a diary, imagining that you are trying to make an old person jealous.

I find that the only way to get through life is to picture myself in an entirely disconnected reality.