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Yesterday, I call housemate.Dave: "If you get home before I do, watch out for the floor... there's an awful lot of blood."
Today, I call housemate.Dave: "If you get home bfore I do, watch out for the floor... I dropped a bowl getting my lunch and it smashed and I have to go out and I can't finish cleaning up all the broken china."
In both cases, Dave's verbal response amounted to: Don't worry about that.
Today, however, he sounded rather concerned and added: "Are you okay?"
In retrospect, I should have thought more about how I was going to open that statement.
I am unharmed, but running. The bowl is dead. I had cereal for lunch because I was out of other things to have.
eta from uni: Aaand I need not have come out at all, as the office I needed to go to has an unscheduled closure.
*sighs*
Well, I took a bunch pf photos, at least.
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Tonight I baked chicken drumsticks, for foods purposes, in two attempts because the first time I took them out they came out underdone.
In other news, I talked to both Chas and Dean today. It turns out they'd read all the comments on a recent post, which I hadn't expected (to the extent that I thought about it, since I was answering comments while quite upset), and had gathered alarming hints about how I've been doing. Soooo, all my dedicated efforts to keep them from knowing anything about how I've been managing in the last week have come to naught, but on the bright side, we're all fine.
And since this means I am no longer carefully dodging the possibility of them finding out what's been happening, I can talk about it here.
My reasons for doing so are mixed - partly for my own benefit, since this is my own damn journal, partly for the informational benefit of people who care about me, partly because I know sometimes it will be surprisingly helpful to a stranger to know that other people deal with this kind of thing too.
I've been struggling to hold things together in the last week. All the strains that were there before the wedding are still around, only now my brother and my best friend are far away and out of reach. My dear friend Oliver has been helping, trying to take care of me, and housemate.Dave cares, but it's not the same, and I've been having trouble.
My psychologist has been taking the angle of reminding me that this is my great chance to work on being able to deal with things independently, without help, but it turns out I'm not entirely ready for that yet.
Oh, I'm better enough not to be totally dependent any more, but... Ideally, I think, even if I moved out and was living alone, say, I would still be in frequent contact, by e-mail/IM/phone/etc, with my family. (By which I mean my brother-out-law Chas and my sister-out-in-law/BFF Dean.) Feeling cut off and isolated is bad for me - my actual, real breakdowns while they've been gone have both taken place when (first time) everyone I tried to call wasn't answering, or (second time) I was feeling like I couldn't call on anyone at all.
First time I mostly held it together until Dave came home.
Second time ( is cut for the squeamish. )
Linkin Park. I bleed it out digging deeper just to throw it away, just to throw it away, I bleed it out...
I've always had this feeling like everything would be okay if I could just get the blood to run.
The only thing that seems to have bled out with it is that. Blood won't help. The cut will hurt and the blood will be in sight, and I'll be distracted from my pain by hating myself for the weakness that cutting represents, but it won't make it all better.
I know I've been told this, many times, but I could never feel it.
But I have enough self-inflicted scars, and I've seen my life pooling on the floor, and I want to believe I can let this all go now. If two sutures is what I needed to be able to put this behind me, I'll take it. I want to be past this. I want to feel like I don't have to be afraid I'll lose myself, like I don't have to be terrified that depression is an illness that will kill me.Current Music: Cobra Starship - Guilty Pleasure Current Mood:  tired
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