I think I'm losing them.

Tom in the brig, and B'Elanna wanting to hurt herself and then wanting to die for some dubious moral reason. She's still glaring at me, and I don't know what to do. I try to be the Captain. I think I'm coming across like some ill-tempered nun, the kind that rapped children's fingers in Catholic schools, but I don't know how else to behave.

I went to talk to B'Elanna, to try to clear the air. I didn't get into a moral debate: that was pointless, and anyway that wasn't what it was about. I have the right as Captain to order any medical treatment I deem necessary. I don't have the right to go against her wishes because I love her. "Losing you was unacceptable," I told her, and I think part of me hoped she would read between the lines. Unacceptable for this ship, of course. But unacceptable personally too. And now I'm losing her anyway. Personally.

She was wearing a tank, some appalling incense wafting through the air. Musky, odd. She was so handsome, so angry. I could have gone and sat beside her and tried to be her friend, but I couldn't. I'm afraid now, afraid she'd see. See how I feel.

And Tom. I don't love him, exactly, but as he talked about his enthusiasm for the sea, I thought he was beautiful. I thought there was something between us, something shared, and in my delirium it seemed almost sexual. I'm nothing to him. Not a woman to be desired. Not a captain to be obeyed.

I think I'm going mad.

I could blame the aliens and my dopamine levels when I chastised them for their indiscrete behavior. But I realize now it was more than that. I'd prefer not to know. To put it mildly.

It's not the sex. A person doesn't need sex, not really, and anyway, one can have sex alone. It's something else: being touched perhaps. Something in the feel of one body against another. Galvanic skin response. Something chemical. And more than that--a sense that someone else cares, that for a few moments at least they are focused on no one else.

When I felt in control it wasn't so bad. I was alone because I was in control--the loneliness of command. There seemed to be some point. But ever since the Void, I have felt--oh god. I tried to kill myself and they didn't let me. They obey me much of the time, but only because it suits them. I was clinically depressed and that was all right with them. At least she's quiet. I wasn't bothering them. They let me continue as Captain when I couldn't even leave my cabin.

I think Chakotay and Tuvok talk about me.

A year ago it would have seemed impossible. And perhaps its paranoia speaking. But I think they are comparing notes.

There are times when I think I'll go mad if someone doesn't touch me, if I can't for a moment relax and be simply human.

I think about Chakotay and Tuvok. Individually I mean. I could ask one of them. They wouldn't laugh, they wouldn't tell anyone. And god, I think they'd try to do it. Out of friendship, out of duty, out of logic, something --they would make love to me if I asked. There were a few moments when I think Chakotay wanted me, but that's long past. But if I asked him . . . It would be pity in his eyes. There are moments when I think I could close my eyes and not see that pity, moments when I think that if only I could pretend, I could pull myself together. But most of the time I think that pity would be worse than death. Have you ever been to bed with anyone who didn't want you? It's much worse than another night alone.

I haven't mentioned Seven. I try not to think about her. There was something between us, something, maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was that I cared about her. But sharing loneliness and caring--that's a lot. And I did want her. She, well, she excited me. Her defiance, her beauty, her strength, her intelligence. I think it got me through a whole year of this, the year after she came aboard.

And then I realized they were talking about us. Saying that we spent too much time together. Suggesting that the relationship was sexual, and intergenerational and coercive. I was horrified. And I resolved to leave her alone. No more games of Velocity, no more fireside chats. If she's hurt, I haven't heard about it. But I miss her . . .

Perhaps I was never equipped for command. Or perhaps no one could stand this. I don't know.

Five, I've mentioned five of my crew that I want, that I desire, that I imagine . . .Maybe that's normal, but it feels like madness. I imagine seducing them, you know. I imagine the circumstance, and what I would wear. Can you imagine? It is pathetic. There is no costume conceived by the sentient mind which would make any of them want me. And certainly none I could wear to Neelix's Christmas party.

I think, if I could find an alien, someone sufficiently humanoid, someone possible, I'd do it. I'd just throw myself on him or her. It might be coercive, they might pity me, but I wouldn't have to live with that pity for fifty years.