I don’t do a lot of day to day personal entries but I think this might give a little insight into how it feels to live my life.
Friday was my birthday gathering. The only person I didn’t want there was the one person that declined my invitation. Unfortunately she wasn’t the only one that didn’t show up. My best friend didn’t show up. Of all the people that showed, he was the one person I really needed to be there. He didn’t even think to tell me he wasn’t coming until well after the party started and I had to ask him. I’m heartbroken. It felt like my heart dropped into my stomach. I’m devastated. He said he had food poisoning. I don’t believe him. Not even a little. I think he lied to me because he was too much of a coward to tell me he didn’t want to come. All the caring he said he had, gone, meaningless. A lie. I’m always disappointed. In the end I’m always disappointed. I put so much of myself into other people. I only end up getting hurt. Fuck. Maybe I do expect too much and just set myself up for all this. I just want people to care about me like I care about them. I guess that’s too much to ask for. So now I’m right back where I was so many fucking times before. Hurt. Disillusioned. Empty. That’s what I get for putting myself out there and wanting to be close. It always ends. And it’s my own damn fault for making the stupid fucking choices I made. In that moment I hated him, second guess everything he ever told me. How do you believe someone anymore when they can’t do one thing that they know is so important to you. I almost never ask anything of anyone. I don’t believe I have the right to impose one people. This was supposed to be the one day the people I care about should show they care about me. Just show up. He couldn’t even do that. I was anxious all day with the fear that he wouldn’t show and he didn’t. I rushed around trying to fill my time. Woke up early to make a Peanut butter cake with chocolate peanutbutter ganache filling and whipped cream cheese frosting. Made fresh bruschetta and homemade chicken tenders. Anxiety pulling at me the whole time. You’d think that would help me prepare for the disappointment. Nope. The stupid thing is. I laughed so much that night. After about an hour of silently dying inside, I just kept drinking. All my friends that did show up had a great time. They were wonderful and it was a night of non stop stupid movies, MST3K (yeah I’m a nerd), and what should have been a truly good evening for me. And in all honesty it really was a great evening, even with the underlying disappointment. My sis was there and that is what really mattered.
The next day my sister, her bf and one of my other friends went out East for wine tasting. It was an insanely good time. I haven’t laughed so much in a very long time. So much I had tears streaming down my face. Moments at a time. When the laughter died down, even for a moment, all I felt was a pervasive sadness. A depression leaving me hollow and tired. Then the next minute I’d be laughing again. Always tempered by how quickly I would slip back into my blacker thoughts. Went to dinner at a really great BBQ place. More laughter, more sadness. From here we went to the Floating Kabarette in Brooklyn. I was exhausted. My body giving up on me. This is one of my favorite venues. Beautiful and entertaining. I could lose myself in each act, each performance, my mind distracted, but at each intermission I would have time to think again. I could feel myself slipping away, just listening to the others talk and laugh and have a good time. I pretended. Bouncing to the music, dancing in my seat, putting on a happy face so no one would know that anything was wrong.
My sister and her bf left early Sunday morning. I was done. I knew they’d have to leave soon, but it never feels like enough time. Everyone always leaves in the end and I’m left alone once again. I couldn’t pull myself out of bed. Slept most of the day. When I was awake I couldn’t stop crying, everything ached and hurt. Hours spent rocking in my bed, just trying to hold on. Fortunately I have a wonderful roommate that sat with my, held onto me while I lost it. I can’t keep going on like this. It’s too much for one person to take. I’m doing everything I can to get better, but nothing seems to help for long. I need something to work. Anything. I feel like I’m spiraling down into a black hole that’s impossible to return from. Hopeless despair.
There are days when understanding that these feelings are a part of my personality disorder helps. Not quite a comfort but at least provides some insight that I can work through. That understanding is often in retrospect though. In the moment, nothing else matters but the pain.