Puppies

Tonight. Tonight was absolutely wonderful. I'm not going into details. Emptying thoughts into text drains the detail of the memory in your head. I want to bathe in my memories of tonight first.

Fear and Loathing in Southwold

HA.
Hahahahahahahahaha.
You see, last night, or something similar, needs to happen every single night. I mean if that happened, it'd be problem solved, i'd be happy. Distracted as Benjamin would say.
Adam and I set off at around 9:20pm for the coast. Why? Well, why the fuck not. God how I enjoyed getting the hell outta Raunds. This place is a weight attatched to my foot and it's slowly making me sink. And everyone knows I can't swim anyway.

Yeah. It was amazing. We stopped in at his Dad's. Which this morning is what's plaguing my mind. The opinion of an honest man can always go either way. He told me how much weight i'd put on since he'd last seen me. Which is true. But my conundrum is what the hell can I do about it? I have no commitment to anything, and i'm tired of looking at my double chin and my massive stomach and fuck wearing anything other than a large cover-all bin bag when Henry and I go on our holiday.
Uh.

Standing in the ice cold Southwold sea, which was pretty angry actually. It feels like it was all a dream. For those few moments I actually didn't have a care in the world. I'm sure Adam can tell you how I regress into a seven year old child when I get to the seaside. It was so beautiful. The sky was pitch black apart from two brightly lit ships on the horizon. The sky was absolutely filled with bright, twinkling stars. Apart from the stones under my numb feet and the temperature, it was just perfect. Adam smoked a cigar. My cigarette fell into the sea, obviously.

I'm not allowed to mention the fog. The endless country roads. Nearly throwing the phone out of the window...

Two people have never been so happy to see a duel carriageway!

It was just perfect. And being sat here, writing about it, listening to the fat bitch slamming doors and stomping her fat feet around. It just doesn't seem like it happened at all. It seems like I dreamt it all. Still, makes me smile.

Another addiction

The Sims.
Making them. With their perfect clothes and their perfect house with their perfect skills and their perfect families. Making them happy. Forcing them into a routine that they have to follow without question.
And the power to destroy them with something as simple as taking the ladder out of the swimming pool.
Maybe now I understand?

5:30am

I've just spent £90 on two pieces of clothing that I don't need. If I were asleep, this would never of happened.

Just an observation....

A lot of these blogs are foreign.
We must be boring.

The start of the weekend!

Yep. It's now officially the start of the weekend for me. A bum like me. Fifteen minutes ahead. And what does my delicious time away from the fuck machine have in store for me? Well, tonight, the Eastenders omnibus and a shit load of food. And tomorrow....
Sometimes it's not even worth it is it?
I spent my day at work avoiding till work and contact with customers. It's meant that my back hurts (since when does my back hurt from a bit of physical labour anyway?) but it means i'm partially happy.
I spoke to Benjamin, through text. He seems very defensive about the email I sent him, but it's not like I expected him to welcome and accept what I said. But, as I told him, certain things had to be said, and now it's all done, we can just forget about it.

AT TWELVE O'CLOCK, I AM OFFICIALLY BINNING THIS FUCKING WEEK.

Even though, I said that last week at around this time, and everything just got even worse. Oh well.
It's nice to have some communication with him though. Some level of 'normality'. And i'm feeling a little better in myself about the whole situation. I am again the strong one who must do everything I can to keep Ben smiling and keep him going until he is out of the dark phase.

Anyway. I'm going to make sandwiches. And probably call my mother. It has been 8 days after all. Not that i'll be explaining the week's events to her. I'll listen to her whine about her problems. Listen to her talking to other people whilst on the phone to me.

But then it's 'stenders time. Ahh, the little things.

Oh. A customer told me that I should give my life up for Jesus Christ our lord. Best decision I could ever make apparently.

The big green fuck machine

"MORNING!" in some old-fashioned-matron-burst-into-the-room-and-pull-back-the-curtains-burning-your-eyes-in-sunlight kinda way.
What's left of the two minutes of it anyway.

News to tell. News...to...tell.
Little really.
Work was one big fat tiresome fuck. I'm one big anti-person at the minute, and immersing me in a sea of smelly, ungrateful, moody germy bastards is not my idea of 'a good way to deal with your depression'. These people are all so insignificant. With their rudeness and their stupidity and I hate each one more than the last (with the exception of the odd person that smiles and actually engages you first. They're O.K).

I emailed Ben last night. I spent a good hour of work trying to construct the perfect email in my head, but then when it comes to typing it, it always goes to shit doesn't it? Basically, 'You hurt me. You're a dick for trying that. Don't do it again. I love you'. Hmm... Maybe I could have just condensed it into that? But yeah. No reply as of yet, which means I'VE ANGERED HIM! So easy to do, but this time, he needs to hear my side of the story. No more treading on eggshells (God I hate that term). I love the boy very much, but as a psychologist (eh-hem) if you reward negative behaviour then he will only repeat it. If you give the rat an electric shock instead of the biscuit it thinks it's going to get, then maybe it wont try and kill itself again. Let it remain in radio silence until he texts me... You know, I used to be a fan of games. Twister. Monopoly. Operation. Mousetrap....

Seriously.... Only five minutes have passed since I started typing? What the hell is up with that! Do I type really quickly? Or am I just really excited about going to work? Ha. Blates.

My stomach is crying at me. I better feed it. Lets get today over and done with and then i'll treat myself to a nice big bifta when I get home from work. Can you use that word anymore? Bifta? Okay, doobie. A nice big doobie.

A rubbish evening

Man... All I need is love... Compassion. Apology. Grovelling. A cuddle.
I'm valiumed up and ready for bed.
Still, safe, I finally got me a pick up. Now all I need is some damn rizlas!

confused.com

A quick glance of him in a car has set the old noggin' off. God I want to text him. Tell him that I love him and everything is going to be okay. Cuddle him and kiss him. I'm hurting so much. My heart is just in pieces. I just need some time to get my head together. I don't want him to think I'm not here though. I don't know what to do. So for now, i'll sleep.

The Valium Days

Mr Doc gave me my much saught after medication. Not that it's gonna do anything. If it could change time or allow me to tinker with current situations, now, that would be a drug i'm interested in!
Still.
Adding another drug to my concoction that I gobble down each day will keep me on the path of the little socio-path that I am.
I've been sleeping most of the day. Maybe that makes me a coward, but fuck you. I know it's seven thirty, but my head seems very confused as to what the actual time of the day is. Somehow, my body clock has fucked up. Maybe those drugs did what I wanted afterall. Kinda?
This evening looks like a waste of time. Time time time time time time.
Ben sent me an email. I didn't expect it to be as upbeat and positive as it was. But there again, I didn't expect him to try and kill himself after the upbeat text message he sent me on Sunday night... I can't reply to him. I'm experiencing something that is very very foreign to me. I am furious at him. I am furious at him for using the words 'I love you' as some sort of apology for what he did. I am furious that he just discarded whatever feelings I harbour for him and just went ahead anyway. I am furious that he didn't even consider his family, his friends. How we would all feel.
Tuesday was denial. Wednesday was panic. Thursday is anger.
Friday i'm in love! Write about this you Robert Smith fuck.
But no. Right now. I don't know what I would even say. I think for the first time, he needs to leave me alone so I can just get my head around the events. God. Typical. I'm crying. You know when you really loathe someone so bad? I fucking loathe myself real bad.

The calm after the storm

House again. The place where it all begins, and the place where it all ends. My abyss of black as it were. My blind spot.
My head is still this carcus full of fast paced thought. I manage to relax a little in the presence of company, but on my own. Man.
Tommorrow. It is another day. Another day which I am sure will disappoint me. As long as I get my valium, I will be fine.
For now, i'm just going to take copius amounts of tablets, and get some so called rest. I wonder what it would be like to rest. It must be nice.
And to my friends. My friends who put their own needs aside to be with me right now when I really need you, oh how much I love you, and I promise to you that I'll be there when it is your time. Or rather, I hope and wish that you never feel this sadness.
I can't pray. I don't believe in 'him' anymore. Just as much as he doesn't believe in me.

I thought there was supposed to be calm after a storm?

Awake. Again.
I survived the night apparently.
Ridiculous how it's 7:30. What in hell am I supposed to do at seven thirty? My body is quite heavily sedated still. But my head. Oh the head. She's buzzing. Thinking about everything under the sun. I feel like there's a whole hive in there. I wish there was a hive, then I wouldn't actually be able to think. Or function. Mmm... Sweet not being able to function.

The day ahead looks bleak. Either i'm going to get turned away at Tony and Janes. Maybe no one will even be home. But any news I hear isn't going to be good. I mean, of course 'he's not in a coma' is brilliant. But it's not what I think I should have to hear. I'd prefer a 'here's a million pounds!' or 'fancy a holiday?'. But no. The best news I could probably recieve today is being told where he has been sectioned.

My denial has worn off. I knew the bastard wouldn't last forever, but still. I just want to fucking get this day over and done with.

And for now? I think a mini-overdose of codiene would be the dog's bollocks.