Monday 1 August

I lie on my bed, headphones on, music loud. Songs to ease the pain – ‘Never Be Like You’ (Flume), ‘Step Up the Morphine’ (DMA’S), ‘The Less I Know the Better’ (Tame Impala), song after song of Chet Faker.

I keep looking at myself in a small mirror I borrowed from Iris. Every time I look I see myself a little less the way I saw myself yesterday and that makes me angry because, who are they to tell me who I am? Last time I checked I didn’t have a friend called fridgeman and I don’t ever plan to.

While Iris is out of the room, I call Ben. ‘Search PSST,’ I tell him.

He puts me on speaker and I listen to the familiar roll of his chair, the sturdy wheels on hardwood, his predictable complaining about slow internet; it’s the sound of a good, old friendship. I imagine myself into the room with him, sitting in the blue wicker chair in the corner, my feet up on the windowsill, staring at the lemon tree out the window, the green and yellow ripeness.

I hear the small inhalation of breath when he finds the site and reads the comments. Then the wheels of his chair move as he pushes himself away from the desk and stands. ‘I would like to hit something, but I have nothing to hit.’

‘Times the feeling by a million,’ I say.

I wait for him to say something that will make me feel better. If anyone can say something Ben can because he’s known me forever. The words aren’t out there, but I hope for them anyway.

There’s so much quiet on the other end, and I’m about to let him off the hook, when he says my name. Just my name. Spoken in his sensible voice, his gentle way, it reminds me who I am.

After we hang up, there is a new comment.

BenTran: Kate Turner is the greatest person I know.

I focus on Ben’s comment and not the loser who asks if Ben is ‘doin’ me’.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

What are some practical ways to improve my self-esteem? I start making a list.

At the top of it: Find the fuckers that run PSST and shut them down.