Night Out

I just got back from my night out. It’s 00:26am. Physically I feel a bit ill from not eating and then being so active, dancing and singing and such. I also have a headache and my sore throat is now scratchy as well. Emotionally I feel a little empty and anxious. 

I think I made my mother cry. Before I left she was sitting in her room writing and crying and I’m pretty sure it was my fault. I feel like such a terrible person. I also noticed she went on a binge spree again. Normally I don’t notice so much but I can see. I went to make myself a slice of toast and some tea and where there was half a loaf of cheese and onion bread there is now only a little stump left, most of the biscuits on the table are gone, I’m not sure but there seem to be less dried peaches in the fruit bowl and the last bit of the crunchies are gone. I don’t know what else, that’s all I could see at a glance. I feel disgusted that I probably caused this. Did she eat all of this and take laxatives like she used to or did she stick her fingers down her throat, or did she just sit with it feeling worse. This brings up two opposing feelings within me:

1) I feel like the shittiest person in the world for making her feel so bad. I feel guilty and sad and angry all at the same time. How could I snap like that? She has every right to ask for rent or electricity. I am not a child any more. I should suck it up and get over myself already. Enough witht the pity parties and manipulation. God I hate BPD. It’s like having two people living in my head. No, with Ana let’s make that three. And three has always been a crowd.

2) I feel angry because no wonder I have eating issues. I know I cannot blame her for it but I also know that growing up and learning from her eating habits obviously affected me. I remember when I was a teenager and we were having one of our many chats, she told me how she used to go to gym and then binge on a whole pack of muffins on the way home so we wouldn’t know. She told me that she then took laxatives as well. I remember this because I thought, wow I’ll never get like that. I remember because I think this is partly why I got so fat in high school. It was a rebellion against my mum’s behaviour and my gran, who once poked me in the ribs and asked if I was sure I wanted that second helping. Then I developed emetophobia and went the opposite extreme. The fact that people suddenly noticed me was also a helping factor. And you know what? By not eating, by having the self restraint, I was better than, not only everyone else, but my mother. My mother who is so calm and organised just gets on with it. I wanted to be like her so badly but I have always been the wayward child, the one who is ‘just like her father’; over emotional, creative, airy-fairy, irresponsible, lacking in ambition, scattered. It’s great to be compared to someone who is so unstable, violent and was most of the reason our family was such a mess. My whole life everyone expected me to be a fuck up, how could I not oblige. 

Anyway, my night out put a nice band aid over the gaping wound for a while. I was hit on by three guys. One guy old enough to be my father, another who kept repeating himself and told me how he’s been of MDMA now for “6,7,8 years” and “I only sell it now. Oh I’d love to get to know you.” and the third who was also obviously much older than me who actually entertained a great conversation on neuroscience and such but who asked me for a kiss good night right after I told him to stop putting his hand on my waist as I do have a boyfriend. Creep. This just shows me how low my energy vibration is, that I am attracting people like this in to my circle. Eeek. And you know, the whole time I just kept thinking of my boyfriend and wishing he was with me to dance and laugh and allow me in to the safety of his arms. But he hasn’t messaged me at all. The last I heard from him was when I messaged to ask if he’d like to join me tonight and he said he’d see how he felt after work. And he didn’t fucking bother to message me. This makes my BPD brain angry. I feel like I am the most unimportant person in the world. He obviously didn’t think of me at all and so didn’t message to let me know because he didn’t think of me or think of wanting to spend time with me. My logical brain says he was probably busy with work, though that doesn’t excuse his asshole move. Because let’s face it, BPD or no, him not messaging me is a pretty shitty move. Jeez I’m swearing a lot, I apologize. My vocab is obviously limited when I am worn out.

Anyway, this post is longer than I intended. I basically feel just as crap as I did before but without the emotional overload. I’m calmer by far, like viewing all this as an outsider, like it’s not happening to me. Suppose you could call it numb? Oh, and I can just now see that biting my hand earlier has left nice red marks. That’s going to be a fun one to explain, idiot.

Good night world. Tomorrow has to be a better day.


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