I'm stupidly tired. Is it possible for a hangover to last this long? It's twenty hours or something since my last drink. I tried to go running today with it, and nearly died.
I'm not hiding anymore. I'm ripping people off like plasters. Once all the people I care about have been told personally, I'll release it as free information to tell anyone at all. The sooner, the better. It won't be easy, but all I can say... that's life. It goes on.
I dressed as I wanted last night. It was strange. I always start off awkward and paranoid and eventually relax. A friend of a friend, Chris, was being overly nice to me... not in a creepy way, I was actually... pleased. It's a good sign - that if I lose friends, I'll also gain some. At one point, a stranger oddly told me I put him in mind of Lily Allen. I burst out laughing at the absolute absurdity of such a claim, but it was well meant, and I appreciated the effort!
It's probably not so healthy to tell people when I'm drunk, but at the same time... as long as I'm not deliberately getting drunk to out myself, if it just feels right in the moment, then I don't mind. I'll do a follow-up talk when sober.
Richey got pretty drunk and kept trying to put his hand up my skirt, and I became more and more angry with him, marching off with some harsh words. I found him again at the end of the night - he'd lost his wallet and I can't believe I felt guilty about that.
I took him home, made him calm down, called the club and gave them his number in case it showed up, and promised we'd deal with it first thing. A drunken chat, a drunken fumble, until I felt my heart sinking. "I meant it. I'm not doing this anymore," I whispered. "Just go to sleep." He grumbled about it, spooning, kissing my neck. And I don't know where it came from, I heard myself whimpering "don't rape me." The true fear I had that he wouldn't listen to 'no', and out there like that it sounded so harsh and horrible. He stopped, putting a little distance between us. "I wouldn't.... you think I'd rape you?" He was so hurt, I could hear the tears in his voice but I couldn't change it. He went on for a little while, and I refused to turn and see his face. Eventually he grew silent, followed by a sad apology. "I'm sorry I've made you feel that way. I'm sorry if I've scared you." And it didn't sound patronising, or dismissive, it sounded like... he'd seen himself through my eyes, and was shocked by what he found there. This man used to be my best friend. The one I would trust with my life. Mental illness is a terrible thing, it's left him... unrecognisable. And yet, I do still see the man I love trapped in there somewhere. Otherwise, I wouldn't keep him around. It's a horrible mess that I can't have one without the other.