I hate thinking of titles.

I’m still hanging on in here somehow, more because they won’t give me enough drugs to do me any harm with than an active self-preservation instinct. Although the reason they won’t give me the drugs is because I asked them not to at some point so maybe there is still some self-preservation lurking somewhere underneath all this crap.

I was at a party on Saturday night. I drank wine in quantities possibly exceeding that which I should. I probably made a prat of myself. I don’t remember doing so but I generally manage it in any given social situation so why should this one have been any different? People went home. It was 3am, I was bored. I resorted to procrastination via the internet. Started following a bunch of new people on Twitter (hi by the way!). Randomly Facebook stalked people as you do. Came across the sort of information that you really shouldn’t find out via Facebook at 3am while rather pissed.

Can’t say what, confidentiality and all that bollocks but suffice to say it’s ripped me apart all over again. Any vague healing has been undone, not just by the act but by the callous way in which it was revealed to me. Surely I deserved better than to find out that way? Everything was lies and how can you begin to undo the damage caused by years of lying?

Called the person involved and yelled at them. Think they were rather confused by a drunk me on the phone. Apparently they meant to tell me but, you know, I’d been away. Yes, they knew it would come as a shock and I deserved to be told better but they hadn’t made it too obvious on Facebook so it was my fault for looking. Now fuck off, it’s stupid o’clock in the morning. Phoned parents who were possibly even more confused by early morning awakenings especially given by this point I was in floods of tears and practically incoherent. Wish I’d had a friend to call but I can’t bring myself to burden them with my shit, I don’t deserve their support and they’d only hate me if I asked.

Took diazepam which thankfully combined with the wine knocked me flat for the next 12 hours. Since then, I honestly couldn’t tell you what’s happened. I have a vague recollection of odd things achieved but couldn’t tell you when or even particularly what they were. I ate a mango at some point. It was good. I finally got dressed at 4pm today and even that wouldn’t have happened had I not a requirement to go out to dinner (friends birthday, there’s only so many social situations I can reasonably avoid and this was at least a small scale one). Floated through the dinner on a diazepamy cloud.

And now I have the parents visiting in the morning. This was planned anyway but is something I need possibly more than I’d care to admit. Have to work out precisely what version of the truth to give them but I suspect I can wing that somewhat. Plus they’re hopefully bringing my favourite teddy bear. Finally, I’ll have something to cuddle at night. Wow, do I sound pathetic or what?!


3 Responses to I hate thinking of titles.

  1. Nurse Converse says:

    Well done for asking them not to give you too many pills at a time. I’m grateful for whatever half buried survival instinct was at work there.

    Sorry for whatever it was you found out on facebook, that’s a pretty poor way to be informed of anything. You’re allowed to be upset about things like though, so don’t feel silly or bad.

    I hope you have a lovely time with your parents today. Thinking of you xx

  2. jhnc says:

    I don’t recall you making a prat of yourself.
    Hope you enjoyed the baboons.

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