Thoughts of loneliness, romance, women, dominate my mind. I struggle to think of other subjects but keep failing. I cannot concentrate on the last bits of work on my thesis, cannot think of my future, my career, anything else that interests me. This one part of life has assumed megalithic proportions, has become a dark cloud blotting out the sunshine.

I have heard women say what they want. Someone confident and sure of himself. Someone exciting. Someone flashy. Someone well dressed. Someone tall. Someone emotionally balanced, who will take care of her, not need to be taken care of himself.

And what do I offer? A quiet, soft-spoken voice. An unresponsive, bland mannerism. Talk of things intellectual, things sordid and boring and out of touch. Fear evident in eyes, in posture, in every move I make. No fire, no spark, no excitement.

All I have with me is neediness and loneliness and longing, things as unappealing as sand in the desert. A man with a history of serious mental illness, too timid to take risks, too fearful to make offence, too stuffy to enjoy life. Add this to the short, obese body, and a more hopeless, pathetic figure can hardly be described.

It would not be so bad if I could feel this as just one problem in an otherwise stable and prosperous life. But I do not feel this way. For the obsession, the tyranny, that the female of the species has over me is nearly absolute.

Only one place offers a refuge for me; the office, the human companionship that co-workers provide. But family men and women all, they head out the door at 5 pm every day, leaving me alone. With the last of their goodbyes comes the long day's journey into night.

I once had interests a-plenty: history, politics, computers, literature. All of them are losing their appeal. The romance obsession undermines all, haunts me when I read a book, surf the Web, take a walk in the park, play with my cat, visit a relative. There is no escape. No relief. Always the she who does not exist taunts me mercilessly with her absence.

The guilt piles up like a leaden storm. For the blame for the isolation lies entirely on one pair of shoulders. My own.

I see women around me, everywhere, but I do not talk to them, do not smile at them, do not even make eye contact. I talk to cashiers, waitresses, saleswomen, librarians, many others every day, but always in the same grey, expressionless, deadpan exterior.

It is as if life flows out of me in the presence of a woman. All expression and life flees and leaves only a pallid shell that speaks in a mumbling, humourless, joyless monotone with all the charisma of rusty nails.

I feel rage building inside me, cold disgust at the endless hesitation, the cowardice, the stubborn failure to make things better. What am I doing at a computer screen on Saturday night anyway? Why do I live like this with no friends, no family, no connection with the world I inhabit?

I think of what my life was one year ago, two years ago - virtually identical to what it is today. Again builds the rage and the guilt. My thoughts are illogical, my behaviour irrational, my motivation indefensible, my lack of effort unjustifiable. Therapist after therapist has thrown up their hands in frustration at me. Five different medications have had no effect.

There are many who face social phobia, many who have conquered it with courage, persistence, and determination. I have offered only fear, laziness, and unmotivation. I live in misery and cannot bring myself to escape it.