My partner has just poured half a bottle of alcohol down the drain upon my insistence. ****ing slip ups.
It all started on Friday when I decided to reach out to an old friend - we'll call her Helen - to catch up. This was a huge feat for me. I know she's been having some relationship troubles and a hard time in general. She has also been one of the few people who knew a priori that I was going to have to take some time off work because I of my mental issues. I've known her for 15 years now and although she has her good bits and her bad bits (like everyone else; myself included) she is a genuinely caring, loyal and trustworthy person. We arranged to meet on Saturday - which was yesterday - and I dare say that leaving the house didn't seem like a phyrric effort. I had a legitimate good time although being outside of the comfort zone of the house was a bit unnerving. Helen and I went for a walk by the promenade, had a thick hot chocolate, then met up with a colleague of ours (let's call her Cher) and split a portion of fries between us. I'm guessing that this is the kind of stuff you do with people you know - friends I dare say - who aren't merely drinking buddies.
Being on the receiving end of their generosity made me want to crawl out of my skin as per usual, so when Helen was driving me home I asked her to drop me off near the grocer's to buy some milk. I walked out with a dry slice of Christmas cake and a bottle of rose'. I got through a quarter of it before admitting I was being an ***** and owning up to my partner. He inadvertently forgot to throw it out yesterday so I took a few swigs this morning before begging him to get rid of it. I'm on Valium as well now. I cannot be doing this kind of sh_t. My partner was amazing about it. He could have chided me, but he was understanding and kind as always.
So I'm going to try turn the day around even though I started on very shaky territory.
I noticed earlier this week that all the facebook pictures I'd saved to my hard-drive before disabling my account are gone. The folder has disappeared. I have no recollection of deleting it myself so it must have ended up being emptied out of the recycling bin without me realising it was in there.
This kind of gave me a strange sense of lightness; freedom if you like.
Robert hasn't been in touch for a week. I'm quite certain I have scared him off by confiding in him about my suspicions of having borderline personality disorder. Part of me wants to say "Hi!" but another overriding part of me doesn't want to bother him or feel rejected if he doesn't respond.
I never knew up until recently that people other than myself could experience emotional distress on a physical level (I guess I thought I was a special snowflake like that ). There have been countless episodes but these are some I remember more than others: when I was yelled at by my teacher before my fourth grade Christmas concert because my scarf came loose, when I was slut-shamed by an old timer shortly after my first rape and experiencing repeated emotional and sexual rejection by ex.
This entry has been a hella mess.