Life's about to get a whole lot more lonely now that my partner is training on the new job. He starts a nine-to-six routine as from Monday; right after Christmas he'll be put on the shift roster. I really need to find a way to fill the empty, endless hours that stretch ahead without resorting to sleeping. Sleep is my new escape as of late.
My Valium supply finished last night; I've been taking it mainly to reduce my bruxism. I somehow managed to stay on just 5mgs daily for two (or maybe three?) weeks with a significant improvement. That said, my tolerance for the drug started creeping in a few days ago and now I'm back to my old self, forever clenching my teeth, 5mgs or not. Last night's grinding was so bad I woke up with a headache and this morning ti feels like I'm wearing a f***ing muzzle. Part of me is glad I'm coming off them because whenever the (emotional) numbness sets in it feels heavier than usual.
I needed to buy some groceries this morning so I took the route through the derelict park. Most of the cats were hiding away from the wind and the drizzle so there was't much to see. I entertained myself with watching tree branches swinging to and forth. One of the older trees had a pan of white paint thrown at its thick bark; it looked like a giant had jizzed all over it. I blame the cocktail of pills I'm on for musings of such kind.
My partner's mother just dropped by with a bottle of Bailey's; she's oblivious to the fact that I'm a recovering alcoholic. I've hidden it in a cabinet and I'm willing myself to stay the **** away from it. Bailey's gives you runs like no other when you hit it hard. I've hit every drink you can think of hard, excluding Black Absinthe. I always drew a line at that for some reason. But enough about ****ing drink already because it's triggering me worse than that f**king bottle in that f***king cabinet.
I'm dying to just have one tot, but's NEVER one tot with me. And yet I'm still counting the hours left before my partner gets home to see if I can have a pi** up without getting caught.
One tot it is.
I don't give a ****.
I have my 'tot' which is actually a whole f***ing teacup. Whoops.
Alcohol will always be my drug of choice. It's soothing (until you start crying and/or throwing up).
And that's my one and only 'tot' down the hatchet. No more now. It won't be long before it interacts with the garden shrub, the lamotrigine, the fluoxetine and the Valium and I'll be nicely sedated for larger part of the rest of the day.
Who is this and why is she doing this?
Zoning out started at a young age. My earliest memory of it was when I was around eight; I was bored (or so I thought then; I now recognise I was actually feeling numb) in class so I stood up and started slamming my palms onto the seat of my rickety school chair. It was so, so unlike me because even then I made a special effort to fade into the background.
As I smacked my hands on the splintering plywood I felt like I was watching myself do so outside of myself - kind of like an out-of-body experience. When I was duly punished for it (I was made to copy some dumb sh1t off a book) I kept on thinking "Why am I being punished when I wasn't actually doing that? Or was I? Was that me? Then why didn't it feel like me?"
That's a feeling that's plagued me all my life. I have no idea who I am. If you asked me how I'd honestly describe myself in three words the best I could give you is "nihilistic, useless and bored". But I probably wouldn't give you those; I'd give you something you'd like to hear. Something like "altruistic, independent and proactive." I can sell myself well. I can sell you whatever the f**k you want me to sell you so long as you like it.
When I was discussing the possibility of me having borderline personality disorder with my mother she recounted how me switching between multiple accents depending on who I was talking to would freak her out when I was younger.
One time I asked her if floor tiles die.
Another time I climbed onto the balcony ledge and looked over. I wasn't sure why I did it but I figured I was probably still too young to die and got the f**k down. My head buzzed for hours later; a natural high of sorts. It was the first time I'd felt alive in a while.
I was nine years old. I was a strange child.