Dear Diary, Oh the shame of what I’ve done. A few months ago, Gerald left me with money and food, feeling too guilty with his love for that girl he was seeing. So I went back to the Palace Bar, hoping to bump into him – but instead, I met someone else.
Younger, not so good-looking but sweet. He was rather drunk, but that doesn’t bother me. So he took me back to a new place I’d rented with Gerald’s money, and we… did what we all do when we’re drunk and have nothing else to do. When I awoke the next morning, he was gone. I was terribly hung over, but not that upset.
I didn’t really mind – he hadn’t been much of a talking fellow, and an obvious drunk.So, about a month ago, I began becoming constantly sick in the mornings, and sometimes the evenings. I visited a doctor, who informed me I was a month pregnant.
I was reeling – the shock of being told this was unbelievable. He said the baby was nice and healthy, and that I had nothing to worry about. I couldn’t have cared less! I knew that soon I would run out of Gerald’s money, and that the young boy that fertilised me that night would not return. The only thing I could do was to pray that he would come back. He did, one stormy night, and threw some notes into my hand. I told him my news, and he got down on one knee, and for one shocking moment I thought he would propose.”Eva,” he said quietly, “I don’t love you.
It was one night, and I really don’t want it to continue. Take this money, and help yourself. Just don’t… don’t let anyone know it was me that did this.” I am so unloved. All I have is this foetus inside of me that I don’t want.
God must hate me. Dear Diary, I appealed for help… desperately.
I went to a woman that headed a help-service for women like me. I used the name Birling, which had apparently been this young mans surname. I still do not know why, but the woman seemed so offended when I explained this. She refused my plea, and turned me back out on the streets.Now, I’m cold, hungry, and living in a cold little flat in Hackney. Rats scurry past to get to their young children, to feed them caringly – whilst the only person I have is I, and the voices that keep my company in my head.
Am I now going insane, Diary? Will I rot away in this hell I’ve dug myself into? I’m lost. I’m lost in my own world, lost in a haze that won’t clear from my eyes. I wonder now if there is any reason for me to be living. I ma loved my no-one, and I love no-one. Gerald was my one and only…
but he is already loved, and the woman is loved in return.I’m so very empty. Dear Diary, Oh God.
Oh dear Lord, save me. I’ve swallowed a bottle of disinfectant… it’ll kick in soon.
But the worst thing has happened – everything has come together. I found out from people today… Mr. Birling was married to the woman that I appealed to for help, explaining why she was so insulted when I used her name.
Gerald is engaged to the vain woman who got me fired, which makes me feel worse as I feel as if I insulted his. And that young boy that I slept with the one time – Mr. and Mrs.
Birling’s son. It’s all come together with little snippets of information, but now it’s too late… I can’t do anything.
I’ve swallowed my death, and its coming ever closer. I had a chance to take it all back, to sort it out…