I assumed I was self-obsessed enough to do this. I could think of nothing more logical for someone who has consistently written secretly at home about themselves and the life they lead, their loves and losses, the feelings about things happening… what would be easier than writing about myself? What could possibly be better as a kick start back to writing than doing something I've done on and off for years.

So it was an experiment. Did it fail? I have no idea. What are my conclusions, can I try and discuss this with even the vaguest hint of objectivism? I doubt it.

It began to go wrong when it came to talking about the abortion. Despite other highly personal issues discussed, this was the thing that needled me. It makes me feel uncomfortable that it is there, still, but what I have said stands - it will not be coming down. What surprised me most as it went along was it showing me, blazing, in published, available for the world to see in letters ten miles high if need be, how unhappy I was. Am, possibly. Is that degree of honesty good or bad? I can tell you the answer to that very precisely. It is bad. With the ever present shadow of this diary hovering over me, past issues that have if not actually been dealt with sufficiently, at least faded in to the background before now have instead become ghouls hovering in from of my psyche eye-line every waking moment. Instead of offering me the possibility of reclaiming bits of my life from previous emotional disaster areas, I've trapped myself inside them. In the process, making the diary appear as some sort of soap opera. Should I tell them about this incident yet, or that one? I have realised that there are things in my life that although I should probably share them, rid myself of the responsibility of being the carrier of these bags of vile upsetting past-events, I'm not ready. Or more to the point, it transpires that this is not the arena in which to share.

Mixing the everyday banal with the boisterous and urgent; the intense sharing the same space as the dull - no. I don't feel comfortable with this any more.

Did I ever feel comfortable with it? Yes - for about a week, when only two people has seen it. If I could have kept it that way then perhaps it would have been do-able long term, but how on earth would one be able to achieve that? Impossible, obviously, so I should have taken the bull by the horns and told everyone I knew immediately. Given that what happened in the last week was somewhat unusual, it was still only an enhancement of things I was feeling anyway. Paranoia about people I knew seeing it (well, of course they're going to!) and that level of stress about it informing what I was writing, boredom with the process, and boredom with the look. The text was making it increasingly obvious that there's something going on here that I've got to deal with and frankly, that something probably had one hell of a lot to do with the diary in itself.

So. To cut through all of the above, the basic point is that I took it on board too much, took it too seriously and wanted to do it too well. It can't be done without serious life disruption if you ask me, so I'm out. I willingly stand up and say: "forget it, this sucked, I've rarely been as freaked out by anything in my life, and that's saying something".

The Asides are my favourite - that's what I really wanted - a non linear look through someone's life. Something like them will appear at some point somewhere in a different form. Anything good come out of this? Yes - the discipline to write every day, and I like the off the cuffness of what I did write - the without pretence of it. The swearing like a trooper-ness of it, and the blissed out stupidness of watching sunsets and the like.