God, what a day it's been. What a month it's been. I honestly don't know why I do this. Sure, the fans love it. I love it. But I also hate it. No... I don't hate it. I couldn't say that. Never. I just don't know why I do this sometimes. ?

How many people have I met? Thousands? Millions? Probably. After you reach the five hundred mark it really doesn't mattter anymore, does it? It's always the same, "Eddie you're so great... Eddie I just love you..." Always sincere. And I can't say I don't love the attention and affection. But I always feel like I can't appreciate it. Am I worthy of this? I'm just a bloke...

Occasionally one person will stand out as being entirely unique. Someone who doesn't want a bit of paper with my name on it. It's just my name... Nothing special-- they could write it themselves. E-d-d-i-e. Five simple letters. Is that really me? Or maybe a person I meet will stand out for different reasons. There are, of course, the siren- type women. It's gotten to the point where I'm just too tired to shag on these trips. Bloody hell, maybe I need to take a break.

Other people... Perhaps it's something in their eyes. That always intrigues me. Someone who will stand there, looking all pensive. Someone who won't laugh at my jokes because, just maybe, they're actually listening to what I have to say. To what I'm hiding behind all the jokes.

Everybody hides some things. We can't all be wide open all the time. Sure, I seem to tell everybody everything about me. That's just me and my ego talking. I like talking about myself. Who doesn't? It's all true. Why would I lie? I hate lying. Sure, I omit. Maybe it's just that... Well, not right now.

No. Now. This is what I'm tired of. Why do I have to be the happy tranny all the time? Why do I force myself into this? Why can't I allow myself to just be me sometimes? Not that happy tranny isn't me, too... I just have to put on this damn grin every time I go out. Okay, so I'm a comedian. But if I run into someone on the street, why am I not allowed to be in a hurry, pissed off, depressed, or even just in a serious mood? There are a few people who understand this. I'd prefer they not try to cheer me up. I spend too much time being happy. It depresses me. Why is it I can't let myself be depressed? I am.

Sometimes people look at me in a way that frightens and intrigues me at the same time. It's like they're seeing something others can't. They'll stare into my eyes from across the room and distract me. It's like they can see what's behind my eyes, hiding from most people. I'm pretty damned good at hiding it. But I think they can see it. Sometimes I can't hide it, and I'm grateful for the people who are so wrapped up with meeting me that they don't notice I'm too tired to put on that facade any longer. At least, for that day.

I've met two or three of these types-- the starers. I don't try to hide from them. If I did they'd realise they were right, and really could see something that I'm not prepared to admit is actually there. So I force myself to treat them like everybody else. Stare back into their eyes. Something about these people; they won't look away. I can sense it. Our eyes are locked. What is it?

These people are the type who could really help me. They seem to know. It does terrify me. I don't want people to know, but I'm smart enough to realise that I need to get rid of some of this shit. I don't need to tell someone everything. All I need is for someone to understand. These people-- the starers-- they do. I wish I could pluck one of them from the crowd, take them back to my room, and have a good talk. Or a good cry. You need that sometimes. I want to share my pain with someone. I can't hack this on my own.

I'm so alone. Sure, I've got my crew, my friends... I can call my dad or brother whenever I want, but there's nobody who can be with me all the time. And every time I have someone, I throw her away. Like a fool. I wish for someone every day, yet if I ever get someone, I can't ever talk to her like I want to. Maybe if I got a starer. I don't need to explain anything... I can just be me. The six- year- old throwing a tantrum, the depressed teenager, the rushed businessman, or even, occasionally, the happy tranny.

God, what a life it's been.