Obviously Pooch and I have had another little disagreement. I realise this is one of those things I'm going to put up here and then probably take down again almost instantly becaus it is foolish to wash your dirties in public but what the fuck. It helps to have it written down.
We went to an open-house tonight. I don't remember now if I've mentioned it before but Gav's dad died in the edgware road train. I haven't been talking or thinking about it much because I've been trying to cocoon myself from stress because of the madness. The open-house was an opportunity for friends and family to come round and support each other. When we got there there was a kind of service going on lead by a jewish guy and he was reading some bits in hebrew and talking about colin and then Gav read something and Colin's best mate talked about him ans all this. I found myself starting to cry and sniff fairly early on and wanted to just lie down and bawl. Since the meds increased I'd have thought my emotions would have been deader than ever but the opposite seems to be true. After a while pooch hugged me and told me he'd look after me.
I spent most of the rest of the night in the garden stroking the cat. The topics of where we'll move to next and holidays both came up and they are real flamers for Pooch (and me I guess) so were quashed. We got the tube home and were walking back when Pooch started talking about Charlie and the chocolate factory and how they'd added a cutesy ending. Man, this is so dumb and petty. Anyway, I don't see the problem when people change books for films as they are books, not screenplays. You pay your money, you make your choice. Pooch had given his opinion, I had replied, he spoke again and then after three words of my reply he cut me off and said we'd better stop talking about it - another flamer obviously. I thought about what Dr P had said about avoiding stress but then also thought about what the bbc brain programme said about men often just not realising when people are upset so I vocalised my feelings very calmly. I realise I had expectations of Pooch's reaction to me telling him how I was feeling and that part of my increase in agitation was the fact he didn't meet those expectations. I wanted Pooch to recognise that I was upset, am still depressed and had felt his conversation stopper was patronising and unhelpful. I didn't get that. And then I went against what Dr P had advised and summarised the situation as 'Our whole relationship is a series of conflicts' to which he replied 'maybe you'd be better with someone else then'. I know - I set myself up for that one.
I went for a walk after that and phoned the samaritans *again*. It's ridiculous I don't programme the number into my phone for speedy dialling seeing how they are the ones I've spoken to most out of all friends, family, colleagues and medical professionals in the last couple of weeks. 08457 909090 in case anyone needs it. I spoke to them for 10 mins and realised I was exacerbating the situation by being out without telling Pooch where I was going or how long I'd be. I thought he might be waiting up worried as he knows I've been suicidal recently. I got back and he was in bed, asleep. I woke him when I got in and he got annoyed about me putting the hall light on. I'm in the front room now where I'll sleep tonight when I feel tired.
Am I looking at this the wrong way? The way I look at it he has a suicidal girlfriend who has been upset and crying and then walks off into the night following an argument. And he goes to sleep. When I was going out with Steve a similar thing happened once. We were on our way back from the cinema and we fell out - I was very depressed then too but not officially as I hadn't been to the doc to have it made official and to get meds. I stayed on a park bench thinking and smoking a fag for about 30 mins. By the time I got back he had been out running around looking for me and was just picking up the phone to call the police.
Don't get me wrong. I didn't walk away in order to make Pooch worry about me. And it was only when the samaritan talked to me about how Pooch was feeling that I realised he might be worried and came straight back. I was gone maybe 20 minutes. But in that time he'd brsuhed his teeth and verything and fallen asleep.
Pooch and I only had a drama about him not supporting me earlier on in the week so I thought he understood that things weren't even at the moment. Especially after this evening at gav's. Poor Gav. Isn't it dumb to be depressed and concerned about my relationship when he has just lost his dad because some terrorists blew up that particular carriage? Looking around tonight I was feeling for gav but I was also wondering what would happen if I died. Would my friends and family stand around talking about how great I was? What would they say I had achieved? Apart from the fact my family hate each other and my friends are in such discrete groups they would have no shared memories. Basically, dude, I should have been in that carriage and Gav's dad - who seems to have been a really nice guy, should have been at home stroking his own damn cat. The cat, incidentally, is called 'chocolate'. My family could have mourned me as a victim rather than a selfish suicider but...another day and no mysterious brain aneurism strikes me down. The jewish guy was talking about god quite a lot. How can there be a god? People say it is all part of 'his' divine plan but what kind of plan involves starvation, torture, genocide and innocent death? I tried hard to 'find' god when I went into hospital but there is nothing there to find. The whole thing is a joke to make you feel less responsible for the nuts things that go on. Perhaps suicide is an obvious way to take responsibility for yourself.
But then...as Dr P would query, I do feel 'safe' tonight. Nothing is going to change and tomorrow I will wake up again in the knowledge that another night has passed without me dying in my sleep and that all the shit from today still needs to be dealt with. I feel like I should end with some upbeat jokey piece of haha about knitting but I can't think of anything. Nothing at all.