[In which I freak out because I'm totally worried about my ex, who has just called me to tell me he's checking himself into a psychiatric facility because he's suicidal. In which I am very thankful that he's getting help, but not in which I also freak out over the way in which he tells me (i.e., vaguely and angrily).
I decided to delete most of this original post because I feel uncomfortable about how much it might violate the privacy of the other people involved. Perhaps this violates the "honesty" of the blog, but hey. Call me Anais Nin, without the sex. I'll leave the following, which generally could be applied to me at any point.]
I have a staff meeting in 17 minutes. I considered running to the restaurant next door for a vodka but decided to vent here instead. I'm thinking I made a hasty decision. Another vote for hip flasks in desk drawers.
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2 comments:
Ouch.
Yeah...
I would be oh so much less bitchy about the whole thing if there wasn't a big, bold, blinding pattern in this interaction. Honestly, I'm Empathy Girl in real life, and I have a hell of a lot of understanding when it comes to emotional distress (having been so very messed up in so very many ways so very many times) but I have so little patience anymore for self-victimization, especially (and sadly) from this person.
Plus, hey, good excuse to go out and buy more vodka. There's always a bright side.
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