It’s been another ‘dear diary’ couple of days.
After the pup got back with a bucket of drugs, we talked for a while and I asked him what/why things had changed between us .. he told me that he cannot respect anyone who cuts themselves and that looking at my wrist is disgusting to him. That was the gist of it, he is basically freaked out and I have scared away yet another guy. Given that this is someone who takes drugs and drinks every day, can’t hold a job for more than a few days, who gets into fights and manages to piss off pretty much everyone around him, it was kinda rich to sit in judgement of me I thought.
I did point out that he had not long ago turned up at my doorstep in the middle of the night after a fight, covered in blood, and with all of his belongings and I just listened, didn’t judge and never brought it up again. Apparently however, this was me trying to make my issues about him .. or something like that … I can tell you that we tried to communicate for around 3 hours but I am unsure that either one of us understood even one thing the other was saying, we quite literally speak different languages.
The good thing about this is that I am not heartbroken or anything, he was too young, he was not a good influence and it was going to end at some point soon anyway.
The withdrawal of (his) sexual interest hurts because of what happened with my ex, which has been exacerbated this week by our awful email exchange last week and because, well, that shit hurts. The withdrawal of it due to my ‘issues’ with self harm compounds that.
After he left, I got a call from the hospital where I had surgery last week to check in on me and I was drunk, high on meth and kinda freaked out due to the hours with the pup and the dumping … I told them I couldn’t deal with them right that moment and that I was going to the park … and they called the police.
Be careful using the words ‘can’t deal with’ when talking to mental health professionals as they take that a tad literally.
Given that I really was high on meth and coming across as a bit manic, the police decided to section me and I found myself back at the hospital yet again. Shit is getting old.
I called my friend from work and he came and got my dog and after a 4-hour wait, I finally got to chat to 2 psychs and they cleared me to go home.
Except, I couldn’t go home because I didn’t have my rent and gilbo-the-flatmate-from-hell is not the type of guy that you can discuss this with and I was too freaked out to go home. So, I came back to where the guy from work lives to catch my breath and think, and stop crying, and dry out.
However, I ended up going to a friend’s house last night, well, there was 3 of us and I drank a boatload of Jack Daniels, took some Ritalin, some Xanax and stayed up all night talking. I woke up on the opposite end of Sydney and had to sneak my dog onto the train and take a 2-hour ride home.
As I was walking in the door, I got a text from gilbo-the-flatmate-from-hell to advise me that as my rent is now 48 hours late, he has put my things on the front verandah and if they are not collected by tomorrow afternoon, he will have them removed.
So, I am officially homeless now … not sure what to say on that one .. it sorta speaks for itself huh??
The guy from work that I have been staying with, and who has been such a good friend has realised that I am not going to sleep with him. And, although he is too good a person to just throw me out, he has been pretty clear that I need to deal with my shit tomorrow and find somewhere to stay etc … and I can’t blame him for that whatsoever.
No idea what tomorrow will bring or how it will arrive.
No idea what I will do about any of it.
Just wanted to punch it out on here … and yeah, it’s the short version.