20 March 2011
Back from England...
Dave and I are talking again, he doesn't remember dumping me though. He made the mistake of saying "I don't know why you're so depressed all the time." All I could say is that's the way bipolar plays its game. It's horrible.
I wish it would go away and I could be happy, if not manic again. Even Colchester was bittersweet. Probably because I had to do it alone, like I do everything. If I want to go to the movies, I go alone. If I want to bowl, I bowl alone. If I want to go to dinner, I dine alone. You get the picture.
I've slept I don't know how many hours. I guess I'm still jetlagged. Tears keep finding their way out of their ducts. I got some shitty news last night: I can't talk to my best friend on the phone much anymore. God keeps taking him from me bit by bit. Can't see him, can't talk to him, what kind of fucking friendship is a no-contact friendship?
I'm confused about Dave. And concerned. I would think one would remember dumping their girlfriend, or at least the argument. That chemo must have seriously fucked him up. I know it changed him. Hell the cancer changed him. He's not the same Dave I fell in love with, and still love. He used to make a lot of time for me... at the end I was lucky to get 2 hours every 3 weeks... and that was just for a fuck session, or at least that's how it seems.
He says he still loves me, but he hates my piercings. Piercing is just part of who I am. Tattoo's are definitely who I am. Why can't anyone accept me or love me for me? It's not like I ask much of a boyfriend, just be there for me when I need you, accept me for me, treat me like I'm equal to you and don't fuck around on me.
I guess I'm going to go cry myself back to sleep. At least you know I'm still alive.