Heading for Dubai in All Good Things

Can't really write. Too busy having a meltdown. Can't go. Can't do this. Have no choice. No choice at all. Even when I'm trapped in a middle seat on the plane which I ABSOLUTELY CANNOT DO, and they didn't book me vegetarian again and the amount of panic pills I'm taking are only wiping me out without reducing the panic and I had such a bad headache the past two days I couldn't go to Manchester and could only stay in bed and now I have to pack and get up at 5am to catch a flight I can't bear to take to leave the country and how can I go all the way to the Middle East when even Manchester was too far away from safety for me to cope with and it was Jon and Simon twice this week in Belfast and I missed them and they both kept enthusing about how wonderful it was and I have to somehow disappear from my body and my head for the next six days, to simply not be here, not be conscious or aware in order to survive and I am so sick of mere SURVIVAL, of the struggle and the fight of it all instead of being able to actually live and this is why I stopped working in the first place and I don't know why I was so incredibly stupid as to agree to do this job and to not try to get out of it back when there was still enough time for them to find somebody else because now, when the crunch has come, I know that I can't do it but I have no choice, just like those horrific nightmare experiences in Korea, both times, and in Taiwan and in Nigeria, I have no choice, I have to go through with it even when I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't. But I have to.