Tag Archives: break up

Saturday (illustrated version)


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


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.


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.


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

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.

No more delusions please …

I am still really stuck on the horrible email exchange from the other night between the ex and myself. 

I am not sure if being told that the year we spent sharing each other was, really, nothing more than a fuck in a toilet or, if being called delusional for trying to find some peace and sincerity from that year despite what happened (what he did) is what is affecting me the most.

I think it’s the delusional part.

I don’t think anybody has ever said anything so intentionally cruel to me …

It’s a relational disorder, after all.



Things have been pretty fucked up in my personal life since forever these past few weeks. Seriously fucked up. 

I have written about the stuff with the pup and the awful guy from work but today I did the unimaginable; I contacted the ex. Yes, the same ex who sent me to the Er and lockdown in a psych ward. The same ex who cheated and lied and abandoned and discarded like his entire life depended upon it. I should add that I was about 2/3 the way through a bottle of scotch at the time (but you knew that right?).

I was determined to past the pup tonight, I was feeling shitty about him not trying to contact me (yes, I am completely aware that I told him to never contact me again but that is besides the point .. it still felt like abandonment).

The ex and I traded messages on Viber for a while — I don’t really ‘get’ viber –is it a poor man’s skype? I use it because my darling friend B doesn’t have skype because he is weird and has a windows phone but other than that .. I just don’t get it. But I digress.

The ex and I vibered (is that a thing?) and he was polite and stand-offish and I was about to call a halt to the entire proceedings and then he began messaging in earnest and we began reminiscing about the nazi Norwegian/French douchebag that we used to share a house with and it kinda escalated and he called.

And we talked for about an hour.

To be honest, I think it triggered him far more than me … he softened over the course of the hour and told me that he has been to get evaluated by some psychs and is working on getting off his benzos because they had shut him down emotionally. He insists that he was shut down while he was in the house we shared and that he is trying to face up to the shit he does, such as lying.

The weird thing is that he said he never thought he would get to talk to me again because of ‘what he did’. No, the weird thing is that he asked me to spend a weekend with him hanging out. No, the really weird thing is that early on in our chat he asked me if I was mad at him for calling the ambulance when I was passed out and bleeding to death.

Actually, it was all just weird.

What is most disconcerting is that this all feels more desirable than free-falling into a void where I am left only with my own thoughts and nowhere to anchor all of the emotions that I am racing through.

Let’s talk about sex ..


I keep reading about how sex with a pwBPD = pornstar sex, addictive sex … the kind of sex that makes it hard to walk away and makes it oh-so easy to want to recycle.

Why is this?

I don’t know what it is like to have sex without having BPD. I always assumed that the sex I have is the sex that everybody has … but my pup (yes, he is back) has said a couple of things to me recently, as did my most recent ex, that make me think that perhaps I am a little bit too into sex.

And, yes, this is a problem.

As always, I am only speaking from my own experiences, but, all of the reading I have done of late seems to indicate that this is a BPD phenomena, feel free to disagree.

Sex is everything to me. It is the place/space whereby I know that I am the complete focus of the person I am with. It provides me with a time that I KNOW for certain that I can show my complete emotions without fear of being ‘too much’ (a constant fear). It is also the only time that I know for certain that my love is not leaving … he is with me for that moment and I feel free to both express myself and revel in his adoration. It is the only time I am whole, the only thing that matters. I am you and you adore me and that is everything; that is all that matters.

Yes, it’s fucked up.

The next morning brings about problems after such a blood-letting; it leaves everybody feeling raw and exposed … and quite often, this results in silence: how do find language to encapsulate what you have just experienced? Well, you don’t, you really, really don’t.

My experience is that the lover is either then all-in or, they run like a scared white rabbit.The problem is that anyone who doesn’t run is getting off on the supply that BPD sex provides and therefore,  has their own issues, it’s a nuclear disaster waiting to happen. Not everyone wants to be swallowed whole and those that do .. they have their own shit going on.

The next morning also brings the abandonment fears — what if that was the last time? What if you have changed your mind and I will never see you again? What if I was too much and you have to run? What. if?

In a perfect world, I would wake up in a lover’s arms and fall asleep to sweet nothings. Work, responsibilities, life, the universe — they would cease to exist. it’s not just the physical, it’s the feeling of being safe, if only for a moment.

You are not the last person I fucked either

You don’t get to be that.

You don’t get to own that.

I won’t give you that satisfaction.

Fear of blogging


It came to my attention a week or so ago, via a friend, that this blog could be easily found with a search of a username that I use often.

I became a little paranoid that my ex could see what I am writing — and I have struggled a bit with dichotomous viewpoints that he would either love reading about himself and the damage he has done or, that I was being narcissistic in thinking he would ever both to do a search, let alone read what I have written.

I can’t decide which one is the truth because, well because I am not great at such things.

But it has deterred me from writing. A lot.

After thinking, I have decided that even if he has or will find this blog, there is nothing I can do about that and really, it doesn’t matter that much because when I write about him, I am writing only about the effect he had upon me and my own affect from that. My thoughts on the RS are really only to do with my BPD and how it has manifested soprofoundly with this rather brutal breakup.

So, fuck him. I don’t care enough to stop.