On Saturday night, around 9:30pm, I realised I'm going to be alone and lonely for a long time ahead. There's a cosmic block, making it impossible for me to find that one thing I've spent years pursuing, since my years in Sweden: love of a girl.

I'm here now. 12 years on. Nothing to show for. Nothing. Two failed attempts at pursuing marriage, a string of near misses, crash before takeoff, and one-way pursuits, and much mindless, hollow moments of physical connection.

And in between tightly packed moments of failure, there has been rejection.

I was driving home from Melville after my producer telling me, no.. she's not interested. I can report that a part of me fell on its own spear upon hearing those words. I was pretty sure this time. The sublime, erotic tension I was feeling was not just from me… it genuinely came from her too. Her. And the line of failure at the complex.

9:30, I'm lying on my bean bag sideways, trying to escape into the film I was watching and the tears came. I was sad because I suddenly realised that these tears come from a place never tapped before. They were new, fresh, and thoroughly steeped in bedrock of unspoken failure. I know this place and I've written about it and from it, but never cried from it. I ate heartily before these tears came and when they flowed, I felt more satisfied than the noodles I ate. It is the strangest form of satisfaction, mixed with supreme sadness. You finally realise that you're hopeless and that you won't try anymore. You've truly and permanently given up.

I cried and then I slept deeply into the morning. And the rest of Sunday was spent vacillating between crying, cowering on my other bean bag, and watching DVDs back to back. My family was expecting me to visit but going there would have been destructive at the time. It is destructive all the time. I ended up going much later that evening after meeting two Egyptian friends for dinner and escaping into laughter.

I had begged myself to stay true to my sadness and towering depression even if I met them, but as much as I'm driven by failure, I'm also driven by rejection. To be myself and then rejected – I couldn't consciously put myself into that as much as my mind's eye ran rolls of film contrary to this.

I went to my parents' place and felt alone. A difficult discussion with my producer didn't help. A passing comment from my sister seared the situation into stone… she said "Why are you here?".

"To be tortured until I die", I wanted to say. But instead, I responded with hurt eyes.

I went home and ate and watched half of a DVD. And I woke up to see the tone of my week set by the most painful e-mail of many months, only superseded by my former pre-fiancee's e-mails of December.

I was invited to lunch by a friend and her friends. They're well-meaning and beautiful people, but I couldn't face people. The only reason why I had to go meet the Egyptians is that I had to pay one of them money back for buying me something. Because I didn't want to put it off and risk more silent disappointment from my mother.

So I turned down the lunch and then said that I wanted to be left alone when the friend asked me. She somehow took that as a permanent leave-me-alone.

I get a long e-mail, muted in its anger and hurt, but rich in disappointment and indirect chastising. All I wanted was to be left alone today.

It's only 10:10am, 25hrs 20mins since Saturday night. I want to die. I can't handle all this pressure to come out of myself to talk or to explain. I'm depressed and lonely, alone and destroyed. That doesn't mean that I don't want friends. I just don't know how to process them or deal with them or be with them. 

This friend has sent me 3 or 4 e-mails and 1 facebook message which I don't know if I should respond to or not.

If I wasn't such a coward, I would go outside right now and find some way to end my life here and now.