Tag Archives: alcohol

Well now … I never saw that coming

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Yesterday, I spent with the Pup – early AM until around 9pm, a long time for 2 people who haven’t done more than text every few days for the past 2.5 weeks.

We hung out, chatted, argued, drank and got messed up on various substances but mostly, we argued with each of us trying to get the other to see their position.

He eventually apologised for behaving like an asshat and things were OK. Around 7pm, we were walking back through the park (that SAME damn park) and he wanted to smoke what was left of our illicit substances before we separated for the night. We found a secluded spot when, all of a sudden, he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and apologise again and it just kinda escalated. And then it escalated a bit more and then we ended up having sex. In the park. In the rain.

Ooopppps.

I 100%, completely, definitely and absolutely and entirely thought that sex was over between us, I mean the boy said he found the scar from my SH completely disgusting ffs. He was very clear on still wanting to hang but that sex was pretty much off the table.

Huh.

I am also pretty damn sure that it was a very stupid idea to sleep with him. My bad decision-making is not however either particularly new or interesting, what does interest me is that this renewed interest seemed to coincide with the fact that instead of getting upset or quiet when he was arguing/being an ass, I verbally spanked him a few times.

What also interests me is what will happen next.

He has texted and called a few times and wants to catch up in an hour or so …. I am not keen to just get involved in a sex-only thing but there is also no way that this can go any further than it is/has ….

I said to a wise and insightful friend this morning that I am unsure what any of this does/n’t mean and she responded that it means that human connection is very appealing. I am unsure whether she was referring to the Pup or me but have the feeling that she is correct either way.

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The last 2-ish weeks (the catch-up post) or, how I learned to stop worrying and embrace being in a psych ward.

This is a follow on from where I explained Friday Sept 28th; you know, where I got dumped, sectioned, evicted and had the police called on me twice all in one day.

That weekend, I stayed with my friend from work and that was not great, but it meant I was safe from roomie Gilbo for a day or so and that was a big relief.

Later on Saturday afternoon, I got a call from a GF at work, Bel, asking if I was up to going with her to visit a mutual work friend for drinks and cheese, and I jumped at it. She drove to get me and she and I both took our dogs and went to visit our lovely friend Will.

Will had purchased a massive bottle of JD which he and I jumped into (Bel was driving) and the 3 of us spent the evening dressing up in Will’s drag queen costumes and catching up as I had not seen either of them in weeks. Bel left around 2am but I stayed and Will and I took some Ritalin and Xanax and finished the bottle of Jack Daniels and had one of those nights where you really talk about stuff that ‘matters’ (you know, when you are really drunk and high and say stuff you probably shouldn’t and then it’s awkward in the morning?).

The worst part was that Will lives a long way from where I was staying and I had my dog and needed to catch 2 trains to get home and it was stinking hot and I was worn out from lack of sleep and starting to sober up by the time I left.

When I eventually got back to where I was staying, Gilbo had sent a text:

I have put all of your belongings on the front porch. If not collected by tomorrow I will have them collected.

Definitely evicted.

(For anybody wondering, no it is not legal for him to do that, I was only 1 working day late with the rent, he violated laws by entering my room and touching my things, he should have given me notice irrespective of rent and he had possession of my bond but, it isn’t a police matter and I was not up to the arguing/horrible stuff that was going to happen if I tried to get back into the house).

On Monday morning, friend-from-work told me I couldn’t stay there any longer – and I knew that – but he was good enough to drop my dog at the neighbour’s house and then me at the hospital for my outpatient (mental health) appointment.

The appointment led to the psychiatrist telling me that he was not happy to let me go and that the events of the weekend were too much and that he wanted me in hospital. A nurse drove me to the neighbour’s house and they agreed to take care of my dog for what was going to be a 3-day hospital visit at that point, but there was 2 of them and they went to my house and loaded up all of my belongings into the car for me. Sometimes, people are incredibly generous and the 2 nurses put up with Gilbo’s rudeness (he just stood there, drinking and staring at them apparently and didn’t life a finger to help).

Not long after, I was in the emergency psych ward (PECC) with every belonging I had in the world locked up in a storeroom.

The worst thing about hospital stay is the boredom and the worst thing about psych hospital stay is the being locked in so you can’t even go and buy a coffee or have a cigarette or anything like that. At least for the first 24 hours. It was tough and I cried a lot and I ate and slept.

Day 3/72 hours came and the psych decided that I needed to be transferred to the general psych ward for an indeterminate stay and so, all of my belongings were transferred, as was I.

I actually made a good friend in the ward, a young bi-polar guy, and we had far too good a time discussing the absurdity of life in a psych ward and managed to get alcohol inside a couple of times and got terribly drunk while trying to pretend that we weren’t so we wouldn’t be caught by the staff and we snuck cigarettes in the girls bathroom (3 women in ward as opposed to around 12 men) and generally behaved like we were on a high school camp only, we couldn’t leave and, the rest of the class was bat-shit crazy and the staff had control issues and were there only to ensure we behaved ourselves and didn’t have any fun at all– definitely, exactly like school camp.

Psych wards are a tedium of waiting – to see doctors, for food (helps structure the day and reassure one that time is indeed passing) – I ate so much food that I am actually on the cusp of fat right now, yuck – and for meds. There is no therapy or anything of that nature, it is a containment model only and it is slow and frustrating. There is no internet access and you don’t have your phone. There is a TV room (they did let me bring in my hard drive with a bunch of TV shows and films to watch) a kitchen, a courtyard (still no smoking) and after a day or so you get a couple of short, 30 minute breaks outside whereby you can smoke and go to the local store.

All up, I spent 13 days in hospital. Because I had no internet, I couldn’t look into housing and the looming reality that every item I owned in the world together with myself was going to be placed on the street and left to my own devices was looming.

I actually had a meltdown about a week in when the doctors were pushing me to come up with a solution to my housing crisis and refusing to listen when I tried to explain that I couldn’t actually do anything while I was locked down but leaving meant going out into the reality of being homeless. After yelling at the social worker, they locked me in a room with the social worker and a doctor and drilled me on what I was going to do and I lost it completely … I spent the day in a corner of my room crying and they medicated me with valium and left me alone for 2 days.

The most inaccurate perception that psychiatrists seem to have (as I see it) is that if you are seen smiling, happy or laughing, then that means that you are ‘better’.

There seem to be 2 types of psych patients; those who have ongoing issues that affect their ability to deal with the very basics of life and which often leave them delusional and sometimes dangerous, and those who have ongoing issues but who can ‘manage’ for the most part. With the former, they medicate heavily and lock up/down for long periods of time and often and with the latter they medicate and wait for the crisis to pass and then release. The ward I was in had an adjacent ‘acute’ ward (we were ‘sub’ acute, a singularly stupid term if ever there was one) where the serious cases go, often being transferred to the regular ward when they are feeling ‘better’.

The other patients are what makes rehab and psych stays bearable. This place was no exception. But I saw some things this time around that were disturbing and frightening.

The first was a woman, around my age, who was in the acute ward but who was allowed out for smoke breaks. She is in a wheelchair and has only one arm and no legs. She has one prosthetic leg and I assume they are working on the other. She has zero bladder control and whenever I passed through the acute ward the smell of urine was overpowering.

This woman’s physical handicaps are not the issue per se, I mention them only because of how they came to be: she jumped in front of a train and lived. My worst nightmare: surviving a jump and being disabled/brain-damaged forever, it’s why I don’t jump. I felt horrified and being faced with my own worst nightmare and horrified at myself for reducing this woman to being a representation of my worst nightmare. I struggled with this every time I saw her.

There were also some entertaining personalities, like the boy who thought his computer is god and who has made an entire religion around it, he was very, very sweet and harmless but comes under the umbrella of un-fixable and spends more time in the ward than out of it.

On around day 5, a gorgeous young blonde girl was brought in and within 45 minutes, she realised that she was not going to be allowed outside to smoke or allowed to use her phone or allowed to do anything really and she had a complete and total meltdown. She kept screaming “I am not a dog, you can’t do this”. It was obviously her first time at experiencing the loss of power that is incarceration and it tends to hit hard. I tried to talk to her but she was too upset and the staff eventually turned up and medicated her and put her into acute for 3 days where I could see her through the window wandering around in a daze. She came back to use for one night and then was released. Funny thing is I saw her yesterday at the train station and she was all dressed and made up and looked absolutely stunning – we hugged, it was weird. I doubt she will ever be back in a ward but I also doubt that she will get over that feeling of being at the mercy of somebody else’s whim.

Victims of violent crime (I am using this word loosely and I apologise to anybody who has survived a violent crime and prefers a different term, I mean it in the literal sense rather than the descriptive) have said that one of the worst aspects of being a victim is the knowledge that comes with understanding that somebody else can take away your personal power and hurt/impose/destroy you if they wish. There is an unspoken link between this loss and being incarcerated, it is one of the scars that doesn’t leave.

Which nearly brings us up to date

The day before I was being released. I still had nowhere to go. I was talking about it with a fellow patient when his visitor asked about my situation and offered, very kindly to let me stay with him for a week or so. Sometimes, people just blow me away with their kindness.

A is schizophrenic and a drug user and pretty much a broken man. He has this tiny unit which is filthy and disgusting and disorganised and there is barely room for him but he has made room for me in order to help out. Not only that, but when I was released, he drove to collect me and put all of my stuff in his car and gave me at least a base to think from.

As I have posted, this place has proven to be problematic and I desperately need to get out but I am entirely grateful to A.

I am looking for new digs, trying to shake off the humiliation from the Pup both during our BU and last night when he didn’t take my call. Trying to shake of the humiliation from the ex who sent those dreadful emails a couple of weeks back. Trying to shake off the humiliation of not having a home for the first time in my life and trying to shake off the humiliation that comes with losing your own power in an institution.

I tend to laugh a lot. I am a giggler. My sense of shame does not disappear just because I laugh. It is written all over my body through my scars.

The best thing that has come from all of this, besides having the chance to connect with some people in quite a special way, is that I called both of my sons and told them what had happened. Neither of my boys has ever really known about the seriousness of my issues. They lived through it once when I destroyed a previous life (much like what is happening now) and they got dragged into it because they were only teenagers at the time but even then, they had no idea the real extent (although what they saw and experienced was bad enough). They are both men now and I made the decision to tell them about the past two weeks because they need to stop thinking of their mother as ‘quirky’ for their sake as well as mine. I will write some more about this another time as I think it is important.

But for now, it is today.


Saturday (illustrated version)

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Barefoot in Kings Cross.

 

Today was a flat-out day trying to navigate the labyrinth that is Sydney Metro Transport.

It didn’t help that a few of the rail lines were down and had to be supported by buses (every friggin’ week they are working on a line) which made everything take that much longer. Extremely frustrating and this only escalated when I was walking along Kings Cross and tripped and broke my shoe – I was convinced I wouldn’t get out of there without contracting some strand of hepatitis from standing on something sharp.

I was down that way looking at a studio which allows pets. I am trying to find something that:

A: I can afford

B: Allows dogs

[CUE CANNED LAUGHTER].

The trip home was barefoot until I could find a shop that had both my size (I have long feet) and style and I am actually pretty happy with my new shoes so, that was a boon.

The disgusting old junkie who inherited a house only to lose every possession in it and let it fall into ruin around him.

It took the entire day to navigate the rail/bus/rail/bus/rail/bus fiasco and when I got home my new short-term roomie suggested that we go and get some drugs to alleviate the heat (it was bloody hot here today huh?) and the pending boredom and I didn’t take much convincing. I went with the temp roomie (A) to collect our goodies and got a first-hand look at what someone who has done drugs for 50 years looks and lives like when we arrived. I was completely freaked out by this guy and the worse part? He wasn’t the dealer, his niece was so, he was begging me for a bit of what A and I bought …. And he talked non-stop about how great is life was before he discovered drugs; how successful he used to be when he was young … it was entirely depressing and my opinion of how it would have been awesome to meet William Burroughs before he died was irrevocably altered.

The Park

Back home, I decided to go and see the neighbours who have been looking after my dog to try and beg their forgiveness that my hospital stay exceeded the promised 3 days. So, I went back to where I used to live.

And then things got a bit messy and weird.

When I got there, I was wired and feeling anxious about facing these poor people who have been so lovely to me and my dog. I was really stressed in hospital about them having to continue to take care of her and so I decided to smoke at the park for half an hour before facing them.

Then I sent the Pup a text — yes, I know, I know — I actually wanted to talk to him quickly about something non-personal for 10 minutes and tried to explain that I just wanted to see him quickly if he was free but it wasn’t urgent. We texted a few times and he kept asking what it was about and I said I didn’t want to get into it on the phone and then he just. stopped responding even though he had just said he would be back nearby in 20 minutes.

When he stopped texting, I decided to just call him and he didn’t answer. This triggered me completely of course. Knowing him, he was completely paranoid about the possibilities of what I wanted to talk about, put 2 and 2 together and came up with 22,349 and freaked out but I was upset that he just ignored me, he has never done that before and we had been still friendly texting for the past 2 weeks every 4-5 days. So he is officially an asshat.

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I finally left the park and walked up to see my ex-neighbours, well, I knocked on the door, and they weren’t home. This wouldn’t normally be a crisis but my dog was locked inside and she had realised it was me knocking …. I felt like such a terrible person. Triggered a little bit more and feeling like a really crappy person who has abandoned the most loyal friend she has in the world and who is so unlovable that the (kinda) ex who was so very into her not one month ago cannot even be bothered to answer a call from her anymore he is so NOT into her now because she is disgusting and pathetic and just plain sad really.

I eventually ended up being in the park for around 4 hours all up. On a Saturday night. High as a kite, triggered and no idea where to go as my temporary roomie was out of it and a little scary for being so.

Luckily my lovely B took a call from me and talked it all through with me, or rather allowed me to rant at him while he listened patiently and reassured me that the pup is bat-shit crazy and not acting like a decent person and it wasn’t me being the human/ex repellent that I felt like I was/am. I’m pretty sure I was repeating myself over and over and I know for a fact that I was already repeating stuff B had heard before. I kinda love B.

Sam

Eventually, I got off the phone, deleted the Pup’s number and grabbed a train back to the connecting bus to A’s place (I don’t really want to call it a flat/unit/apartment as it is the most filthy thing I have ever seen). I was too late for a connecting bus and grabbed a cab instead. The cab driver asked how my day had been and I told him it had been a bit weird. He asked me why and I gave him a very brief outline and he acted really interested and asked questions and we got talking.

When we pulled up to A’s place, he asked if I was up for taking a drive and I said “sure”.

We drove around for about 2 hours, he asked me about what type of men I like, what I like about relationships, if I believed in love etc .. not the most original questions ever thrown at me or any other woman on the planet ….. it was odd but, he was nice enough overall and, to be honest, I was high enough and pissed off enough by the Pup to want to see exactly where this next young ‘un (a bit older than the Pup but not by much) was going to take things, or try to.

He actually drove to all of these dark little alcoves and parks, the kind of locations that are earmarked as ideal locations for making slasher films … but, he was perfectly polite the whole time. I asked if we could stop so I could smoke and he drove for a few minutes before pulling over and I was dumbstruck to see that he had driven to the park I had spent the 4 hours in …. Full fucking circle. I swear that park will haunt my Sydney life – it was where I originally met the Pup if you recall and it is now where the Pup refused a call from me for the first time. I am considering setting fire to it but, some basic Googling internet research has revealed that apparently, it is “illegal” to set fire to public parks, or, pretty much anything. Who knew?

Anyway … I eventually told the cab driver – Sam —  that I am working in the morning and I need to get home (I’m not). Along the way, he is trying, just a little, to see if I was open for something to go down between us. He was trying to be a bit sexy and definitely not pulling it off, he was so cheesy that it was almost laughable and I am sure he would have found it so as well if he was privy to the shit-storm that has been brewing in my life this year when it comes to men.

I got out of the cab, we exchanged “lovely to meet you” (s) and that, was that.

The home invasion

Around 4am, there was a bang on the door here. My temp roomie was in bed and I was attempting to sleep because I had not had any sleep for 47 hours at that point. Temp roomie (A) got up and answered and this HUGE young pup (not mine) barreled in and started demanding cigarettes and being generally obstreperous – he was actually really scary, very drunk and obviously pissed at A about something.

The young guy was around 6’4 to A’s 5’10 and they are both built like bouncers – given that this is the tiniest flat in the western hemisphere and every square inch is covered with dirty plates, ashtrays, bric-a-brac and furniture and I was lying on a sofa bed that takes up 60% of the room when open, this little confrontation was enclosed, loud and pretty damn scary.

The bouncer/pup had a serious bone to pick and was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. He had with him a tiny little blonde of around 19 who was wearing, well, nothing really and he kept turning around and slapping her on the arse and asking Artie if he ever “gets quality ass like that”. She, for her part, stole cigarettes off the table and tried to yell over the top of the bouncer pup that “let’s gooooooo” … “I wanna goooo” and smiling whenever the bouncer pup referred to her arse.

It was like a cross between The Godfather and Jersey Shore.

This all dragged out for a good 20 minutes, which is a damn long time when you are lying in a sofa bed holding your breath, waiting for an explosion and trying not to make any sudden movements to trigger said explosion.

It ended with the bouncer pup putting an axe to A’s throat and threatening to come back if A’s ‘crime’ against him was ever repeated. Obviously this is the short version but the point is that however terrifying, no blood was spilled (although both A and I possibly peed a little).

It was just an odd day.

And after paying A’s rent for a week and supplying cigarettes and stuff, I have dipped into what little money I have and really need to stay here for the week rather than fork out for other short-term accommodation.

But I seriously need outta here.


Dumped, sectioned and kinda homeless

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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.


That’s like this one time … at band camp

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So .. I nearly got sectioned again today. 

I was on the phone to social security who had promised they could help me out with rent/money and then it turned out they couldn’t and I had a mini-meltdown, hung up and she called the police … and hour later (and it took an hour) I managed to convince the lovely constables that I was not a danger to myself or society at large and they took my phone number and are now calling every hour.

The pup turned up with alcohol, has just left to get drugs … have a feeling tonight is gonna be a dear diary thing …

I always wondered how a true event horizon would feel like ….

Ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight???


Why exes fucking suck.

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I recently mentioned my inadvertent visit to my ex last Sunday

You know, the one who ripped my still-beating heart out of my chest last November by dumping me 9 days after I flew 4000kms to be with him?? This happened because I was triggered from the pup. I reached out to the ex, he was keen to hear from me, we talked on the phone for a couple of hours, we skyped, we flirted a bit and he asked me to come and see him … but .. it ended up with me being extremely drunk (well, I had been drinking all day at that point), loaded with xanax (courtesy of the ex) and walking out of the his house with a ‘fuck this’ in his general direction. I don’t even remember getting home. I am still completely stunned that he let me leave in that condition but … not the point.

Point is, about a week had elapsed and I figured I would do the right thing and email to apologise for my behaviour and also to let him know that I had had a dream about him that was actually kinda sweet and when I woke, I realised that although I am far, FAR from over the damage he has inflicted, said damage is not stitched to him anymore; that I was able to look to him with some detachment and warmth, and I wanted to share that with him.

I didn’t actually really expect to hear back from him as he really hates it when I /anybody is drunk and I was reaaaaallllllly drunk so, I figured that he would be too disgusted to get back to me.

But he did …. hoboy .. did he.

What follows are the slightly redacted-for-the-purposes-of-protecting-the-privacy-of-those-involved but this is almost word for word what was exchanged. I include it all for entertainment purposes only and to remind everyone out there: DO NOT CONTACT YOUR EX … EVER .. NEVER, EVER.

EVER.

On with the show

My original email

Hey.

I’m having somewhat of a day of reckoning (as far as such things go) and I
didn’t want to bother you (on the one hand) but, I just woke up from a
dream (thank you barking doggie) and although I am certainly not one to attribute
real life in terms of fate or dreams or the sight of 4 ravens on the
fence, but I had a smoke and decided to write this.

I am sorry about what happened when I went to see you. To be completely
honest, I have very little memory of it except I know I was already drunk
and had leftover coke in my system and it kinda divebombed from there.

Fact is, I really needed somebody to just be there that day and I am
extremely grateful that you tried to be, even if I did fuck it up.

Things actually got progressively worse after I left you. The Monday and
Tuesday of last week were are a blur .. there was a bucketload of more
alcohol and some crystal meth and too much sex and then the inevitable
crash. I ended up in surgery on Thursday night but only because a guy from
work called, got antsy when I didn’t answer the call and came over here to
make sure I was OK. I really wasn’t.

This past year or so … ever since going home from Sydney last year …
have just triggered me beyond belief. And yes, that is tied to and started
with you but it is too far along now to keep using that as a reason. I
keep letting men, or in this current case, a boy into my life who simply
are not capable of doing the right thing and I don’t know why I am drawn
to that, or how to stop it happening but it kinda began with you.

This latest boy has spent a couple of months professing all kinds of thing
to me and chasing me like I was the last woman on earth. I think the sex
was a big part of that (!!), he seemed pretty addicted to that part, but
it went beyond that. And for the first month or so I was not bothered by
any of it. he was very pretty and very sweet and entirely fucked up ..
just my type really. But he is very fucked up even by my standards, and
between the drugs and the alcohol and the going out all the time (every
night) and the losing of jobs weekly .. he just doesn’t stop and it has
been exhausting even watching him from the sidelines.

But he also kept at me emotionally until I began to get attached .. and,
of course, that is when the problems start. I don’t really understand it,
I didn’t want or need the emotional crap, but he pushed and pushed .. I
don’t really get it at all [name]. But I know emotions are not your big
thing so, perhaps I am asking a large brown bear why life is so hard and
expecting answers there. But, I don’t really get why men want to drag me,
sometimes kicking and screaming into the emotional and then look at me
dumbfounded when they find themselves looking into the abyss. He can be
the sweetest of men when he is just here, with me, but the demons he is
running from override everything constantly and he crushes and destroys
everything in his path. Ending up in surgery last week was almost
inevitable really.

I understand that you don’t have any answers for me, nor do you owe me any
.. I’m not asking for them really. But as I said, I had this dream … and
it involved you: it was at my sister’s house and I was in a very large bed
and, for some reason you were there to.

You kind of reached for me with your hand and we had this delicate moment
of intertwining hands and just resting next to each other and I felt very
safe and warm … I NEVER have dreams such as this. I have sex dreams but
even they turn violent at some point. I have perhaps had similar like this
but I don’t ever recall one if I have. I guess I wanted to say both that I
am sorry and that my thoughts of you are somehow tied to the person that I
was before I met you. I am no longer that woman, perhaps I never really
was .. I am not sure, but I found her again in that dream.  I figure that
you tried to teach me not to be so trusting and to try and not put my
emotional self on the line so much .. well, maybe you didn’t try to teach
me that but it is what I should have learned from you, I just didn’t.

This is all a very long-winded way for me to try and say that I am both
sorry for what I did and that I am kinda afraid that I won’t ever get the
chance to say that to you if I don’t do it now. I’m pretty sure that you
don’t really want to hear any of this but perhaps one day you will be able
to read it with the intent of which it is being written.

You see, it doesn’t really matter to me how or when you lied to me or
about what. Not any more. I am pretty sure that there were moments, even
for you, where it wasn’t lies. I am indescribably bad at untangling the
difference between what a man is telling me and what he really means and
that is definitely going to be the end of me it seems. But, at this last
juncture, I just want you understand how very much you meant to me during
all of that time, and how, even now, when I think of you, I do so with
warmth. I have shaken off the shame and embarrassment of having loved you
when you felt no such thing for me, I can live more easily with that these
days.

I have no epiphany to end this with, so I am just going to end it. It is
what it is. But I hope you can forgive me my trespass one day, I am lost
and struggling and I am sorry that you wore some of that.

I hope you are doing OK with your xanax withdrawal and that you find some
answers to how, if at all that affected you.

I am reluctant to say goodbye in this email because it really feels like
goodbye this time.

[me]
xx

His response #1

Hi [me],

The thing is, despite what you might think, benzodiazepines don¹t dull my
senses and/or emotions.
I¹ve always been this way – as far back as I can recall.

Your childhood was frought with abuse and abandonment so these are both
characteristics you¹ve inherited and at the same time, struggle to oppose.

For years I felt that blaming one¹s parents was a total cop-outŠ until I
came back to live in Sydney.
My upbringing wasn¹t as obviously traumatic as yours.
My parents were emotionally cruel but in very VERY sly, slow and subtle
ways. This was a very slow and systematic form of abuse where there just
was a total void of love, affection and strength.
They trained me not to love – not invest in people – not to invest in
myself and the result is a loner who jumps from person to person – from
woman to woman and I can¹t defend myself from any criticism about that
aspect of meŠ but I¹m trying to see when it starts happening and to break
it when it begins.

There really only was one moment between you and me: to act out the very
first fantasy that took place on [redacted] Road in the toilet of the
overgrown house. That was the eternal moment. It literally began and ended
there. It¹s really ³really² harsh. A true sodomal rape fantasy that was
successfully carried out and completed exactly as it was dreamed up.

I sacrificed everything for that one moment and once I had, there was no
turning back on any track.
Nothing else between you and I would ever compare to that one moment again
– but like any addictive drug, one hunts the moment of clarity down again
and again.

Without trying to seem pompous or to tell you what to do, I would strongly
suggest getting on back to [hometown] and returning back to your role as a
[my old job], because your future here will be one of diminishing returns. The
Cross is not fantastic – to burst your bubble for one moment here. It¹s
all fairy light and cockroaches. You¹ll wind up living with people who
will squeeze you out of everything and develop a nasty habit which you
won¹t be able to kick, and from there on, a downward spiral into
homelessness. It¹s too easy – once you¹ve kicked the job and succumbed to
Sydney¹s reality.

Go back to lovely [place I am from and do my old job]. That gave you (I
think) a vast amount of self-satisfaction – quite independent of other
people¹s views and life styles. You still have all your stuff there in
storage, and let¹s not forget the iMac.

I really appreciate all the things you¹ve done for me and helped me out
with. That hasn¹t been forgotten, and, last weekend, when you told me you
were freaking out, I simply wanted to give you a portion of drugs that
would help you cool off and sleep. That was all I had in mind.

But I¹m not the same person you met, and you¹re not the same either – but
be that as it is, I truly feel Sydney is sink holeŠ cleverly disguised as
someŠ culture hub.

We can keep in touch, yet no more delusions please.

Cheers [me],

[him]

My response

I was actually just reaching out as a friend, or for a friend .. someone who knows me a little here and to let you know that I had a dream that  made me realise that I still think or thought of you warmly.
So, yes, I am definitely a little lost and definitely in need of a warm body and release.. but that was all it was. I don’t love you anymore, I got over that quite some time ago. 
I am astounded at  your response and your referral to me as delusional … I’m not at all sure what I was being delusional about or with or to … 
Your email could not have come at a worse time today … but thank you for telling me how it is and always was. 
His final response
Yeah – you always do this [me].
You make out that you were only trying to reach out and then whatever I say is obviously wrong and misconstrued and then you just contradict it at every point.
I honestly can’t be fucked anymore.
Play that game anyway you want.
It’ll be met with silence next time.
_____________________________
So … that all went well huh?
Time with the pup also  went pretty much as I thought it would. A bit if a hit n run session whereby we got high and then he asked me a lot of questions — a few about my arm and what ‘actually’ happened, but whenever I tried to answer him, he cut me off or changed the subject or proceeded to lecture me on the evils of drugs or some such thing.

He was incredibly patronising about how ‘everyone’ has dark days and I should enjoy the sunshine and wonderful day and not let ‘shit get to me’. I then got a lecture  about the dangers of drug use and how I should spend some time ‘thinking’ about my life .. sometimes, there just aren’t words …


The Wild One

man_holding_head
My last post was brief but indicated the way my weekend/week was headed: triggered to hell and a hospital visit.

There were a bunch of drugs, a shitload of alcohol, and visits back and forth from the pup. And by Sunday I was not in a good space, abandonment shit had kicked into overdrive and I ended up getting drunk and being in contact with my ex .. who suggested I go and see him to get some benzos to calm down with.

This was possibly one of the worst ideas I have followed through with in .. well .. ever, but I went took the pills, became even more fucked up and then walked out of the ex’s place pre-emptively.

The next day or so are a blur of more alcohol, some very shitty decisions and a binge on crystal meth .. it’s been years since I touched that stuff and now I remember why.

That was on Tuesday and I spent the day with the pup on and off, he was coming and going and  triggering the hell out of me in doing so. His final departure was when his (female) roomie called and he quite literally jumped out of bed and left me here. I finished off the bottle of bourbon we had bought and cut open my wrist … I was too out of it to get to a hospital or anything until Thursday and I spent the whole day/night there as I had severed a tendon that was too deep for local and had to go under a general for surgery. I had a few hours of psych evals and lied to assure them that it had not been a suicide attempt and that I am under the care of a private psychiatrist, she is just away right at this minute.

The pup called while I was waiting for theatre, but didn’t seem too concerned that I was and he was completely out of it — he turned up yesterday for a few minutes and proceeded to fill me in on the previous 2 days since I had seen him: he has not slept in 3 days, he had managed to piss off yet another person who drew a knife at some point (!!) and he was wired and out of control. I loaded him up with some Valium I had managed to get from a GP before I hit the hospital (no chance of getting them there without admittance) .. in fact, I am pretty sure that was the only reason he came over.

He asked me about my arm (nicely stitched and bandaged by that time) and then when I began to make excuses, he said something along the lines of it being my business …

It couldn’t be clearer that he just cannot take on board anything that is not directly feeding his completely out of control addictions. He is fired from jobs every week but is lucky enough to find work as his industry is in high demand .. he starts a new job, gets fired again, usually for either turning up drunk or drinking on the job.

On Tuesday, we sat for a few hours and had a really good talk about life and what he hopes to do and this is a person who has been so incredibly loving and sweet for all of this time .. until he pulls back and just .. isn’t anymore.

On Tuesday, I asked him to stay. I didn’t beg or plead or make a scene, I just needed him to stay. And fact is, he couldn’t even give me that. His path is even more self-destructive than mine and all I can do is stand aside and let him live it. I have seen and been involved with some very self-destructive men in my time but this boy is above and beyond anything I have experienced because it is every single day, non-stop. I don’t really understand how he isn’t dead or in hospital to be honest, he pisses people off wherever he goes and he fills his body with whatever is handy all day every day.

When he was going yesterday, he was talking about self-harm and said that he didn’t get it. Then he said he hurt other people rather than himself although, he ‘cuts himself on the inside every single day’.

I wonder where the boy who wanted to lie for hours and tell me how much he liked me has gone .. I wonder why even though this ‘thing’ of ours is more-than doomed, it feels like the end of the world that he doesn’t love me. Most of all, I wonder what it is about me that excites men in the short-term but doesn’t last … the very second i start to feel attached, even though they have usually dragged me to that point, they pull away.

Like my ex, the pup isn’t capable of loving anything but his own preoccupations, I just wish that I could take that on board and that it wasn’t so important to me.

I have a brand new scar now, my second for the year. I don’t know how many stitches and it doesn’t matter other than when the bandage comes off and everyone will see, will be able to count the exact amount of just deep my attachment tendencies are killing me.