BritMums Live Failure ...

I am sitting in my hotel room, lap top on my lap funny enough, telly on, ready to order food. Where should I be? At the BritMums Live Award Ceremony. I don't really know why I went in the first place.I paid for my ticket and my beautiful husband paid for this amazing hotel room. I went along, a little nervous, but hoping to have fun.

Oh My God. Who was I kidding? How many circuits of the hall did I make before I was just overcome with the whole bloody loneliness of it all? Lots of bloggers chatting away ... and to be honest I did chat to people too. But at the end of the day you are not going to find bosom buddies in the flash of a five minute conversation are you? Complete strangers are not going to say "Hey! We've just met!! Come for dinner!"

In the end I just thought "What the hell am I doing here?" I am a Finalist in a category of the BiBs, but they are just about to start and I can't face being there, to sit alone in a room full of jolly strangers, fighting back tears. So here I am.

And I wonder why my son is depressed ... The closest I got with anyone this afternoon was with Ruby Wax. She spoke about her web site Black Dog Tribe which is a meeting place for those suffering from mental illness. Afterwards I bought her book and as she signed it I started to say what a good job I thought she was doing. I couldn't finish my sentence. I just choked up and the tears started to well. I felt awful. I am so emotional at the moment. Even as I type the tears are dripping down my face.

I think perhaps I am heading for depression again. This year has been so hard and my emotion is so close to the surface all the time. Inside I feel so fragile.

I don't know if I will win an award and I don't really care. I don't know if I will go back tomorrow. The fun of these things is to be with friends, to talk and exchange ideas. This is more about sitting and listening to speakers. And I have nobody to sit with. I just feel terrible that my husband has taken 3 days off and paid for me to come here. How can I tell him that I gave up and sat in my hotel room? I feel so pathetic and so lonely. This is the only place I can come to to be honest and write my feelings without fear of ... oh God, I don't know. I just hate that I am so bloody weak. And what I hate more than anything is that I have passed my mentalness on to my son.