I talk about the meltdown I had Sunday morning when she was gone when I woke up.
Immediately I panic, running through the evening’s events. Had I done something to piss her off? Did I hit on her inappropriately after our conversation about not doing that? Did I make some snarky comment after a couple of shared bottles of wine that one regrets come morning? What did I doooooooo?
I start crying and ringing her mobile, and land line, desperate for a response.
No answer, messages left. Texts and pms sent.
I retreat into my panic. Frozen.
Replaying the evening. No I did noting wrong, but then why did I feel so fearful? So desperate?
Why was I retreating into myself, trying to shut off the world, while trying to stay a part of it.
Just enough to regret, not to be noticeably more than before.
I get a message back.
She’d gone home to sleep. Of course. So sensible a response.
Missing xanax, I take my missed seroquel from the night before, and some panadol for good measure.
And sleep til noon.
Powered by Facebook Comments