Her grandson’s mom ended up with a dead car that meant she couldn’t get him there for Christmas. I’m not even going to go into the rest of that branch of the family, as his dad is beyond useless.
So, being indigent, I did what I could and called Mom. Babe was quite irritated by this. Mom was unwilling to help for reasons that historically make a lot of sense.
But I had to try.
As I listen to Nine Inch Nails’ Something I Can Never Have in an attempt to right myself, things are only deteriorating. NIN is always a bad sign.
Those two days together, with such reconnection, served as exactly what I didn’t need. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking … it was a terrible fucking idea, but with my dad dying, I needed something to cling to.
Oh, I now have something; it’s just not what I’d wish on anyone else. God, I wish we’d not gotten along … I’d have had closure instead of this fucking mess.
I’d be seriously considering social services but for the fact that they treat me like an incompetent idiot, which does not advance the cause. I’m a victim of bad luck professionally, not some sort of microbrain that needs to be told how basic operations happen.
To touch someone intimately again, to just default to assisting each other again, was intoxicating. This is “hey, it’s Christmas in five days, and fuck off for trying to help.”
I don’t have the funds to go up there, and even if I did … it wouldn’t end well. Leaving me feeling very alone in my van (at least it’s not cold tonight) and knowing that, well, we gave it another shot, but here we are.
I’ve been home nine days but can’t bring myself to change out of her clothes. I smell like her (yes, in every way; dryer sheets eventually stop working), and I mean, I’ll take that over Tide and Bounce.
But I don’t know what to do about it. And I’m now worried this could go somewhere incredibly dark. I don’t want to specify exactly how many suicide attempts I have under my belt, nor how serious they got, but I’m not OK, and I don’t have the resources to do anything other than crack open another beer and kick the can to tomorrow.
Fuck, is it frustrating to have your person … and have her totally unavailable. You’d think I would have learned my lesson over 16 years, but I didn’t. I’m not particularly stable nor aware of how normal people interact.
While my career was intact, this was marginally doable. Without that, I’m lost. I’m just lonely and know that my soulmate was a brief respite, but now I have to deal with my dad being dead; my mom telling me I’m making bad choices; my body, heart and mind all saying the same thing; and the door is shut.
For now. We’ve played the waiting game for years before, but it hits a bit different at 46 than 25.
That makes sense. I’ve noticed how with age, my social circle just shrunk to nearly nothing.
Personally, I’ve also noticed how it’s a much larger challenge to get to know people because at this point in my life I’m just so tired of everybody else’s shit.
Hence hanging out on Beehaw!
That’s a large part of the reason I went up there. I’m sick of telling my story to someone new; I just want to skip that step and go back to something I know.
Same here, really.
After Reddit turned off their API, it became clear enough there was nothing left there of any real value. It helped that the level of hostility just kept ratcheting up day by day.
Coming here caused a near palpable reduction of my anxiety. Certainly I had fewer palpitations in the days following my departure.
In real life I find anymore that meeting someone new is like starting a TV show in the fifth season and really having no idea what’s going on and not being too terribly invested to stick around and find out.
That’s a terrific metaphor. I’m imagining starting GoT in season 7 and wondering why the fuck it was a cultural touchstone.