When I met Melanie, I begged myself not to push her away. She's funny, nice, really, really cute and most importantly, a little broken on the inside, just like me! I really liked her too. While some might take hope from the lack of finality in our last conversation, nine out of ten impartial observers would have to agree that I pushed her away.
As I was saying to a close friend a week earlier, the whole "dating thing" was making me uncomfortable, enough to make me think that I wasn't ready. Too negative, lacking in trust and blind to the possibility that anyone could accept my life as being worth spending time in right now.
Really unhelpful thoughts, I know but I spend most of my weekends out of my head. I don't really want to be here half the time, nor do I want to be sober long enough to have to think too deeply about my life right now.
I should be grateful for the small things.
That I'm enjoying work, making new friends, don't mind waking up each day, off codeine, laughing again and actually want to live. After two years of a madness I often thought would be the end of me, it's nice to have time to breath, to give thanks that I'm here and recognise it took a lot to make it. The very term "breathing room" though implies that I still expect it to fall away under me at any moment.
It's that fear that makes me keep my distance.
I still have moments when I question everything, especially myself. There are still moments when all I can find when I look inside myself are blame and bitterness. There are still moments of spite and hurt when I want to tear down and destroy all that's left and to punish the people around me for being my friends.
This is why I haven't told anyone at my new work much about my personal life, in particular the last two years, nor have I mentioned my dad or depression. Some of the people who worked with me over the last year will always see me through a lens of sadness and pity, which is expected, but through such a prism, it's not always easy to see how happy one can be in the present.
As I was saying to a close friend a week earlier, the whole "dating thing" was making me uncomfortable, enough to make me think that I wasn't ready. Too negative, lacking in trust and blind to the possibility that anyone could accept my life as being worth spending time in right now.
Really unhelpful thoughts, I know but I spend most of my weekends out of my head. I don't really want to be here half the time, nor do I want to be sober long enough to have to think too deeply about my life right now.
I should be grateful for the small things.
That I'm enjoying work, making new friends, don't mind waking up each day, off codeine, laughing again and actually want to live. After two years of a madness I often thought would be the end of me, it's nice to have time to breath, to give thanks that I'm here and recognise it took a lot to make it. The very term "breathing room" though implies that I still expect it to fall away under me at any moment.
It's that fear that makes me keep my distance.
I still have moments when I question everything, especially myself. There are still moments when all I can find when I look inside myself are blame and bitterness. There are still moments of spite and hurt when I want to tear down and destroy all that's left and to punish the people around me for being my friends.
This is why I haven't told anyone at my new work much about my personal life, in particular the last two years, nor have I mentioned my dad or depression. Some of the people who worked with me over the last year will always see me through a lens of sadness and pity, which is expected, but through such a prism, it's not always easy to see how happy one can be in the present.