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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Pity Party

I am getting so sad, can feel the energy draining from my body and soul.  Being strong for so long has not made me stronger; it has made me weaker.  I can write, thank God, and I can walk in the park with Honey twice a day, but I really don’t want to leave my apartment for any other reason.  I wait until my cupboard is bare to go to the grocery store.  

Tomorrow I have to go to the hotel and clean out P’s room and bring all of his belongings over here.  In spite of all my protestations about not letting him stay with me, I can’t deposit him back over there when he is released from Gateway.  He will surely kill himself, or in the best case, throw crazy up all over the place and be asked to leave. 

I am grieving for my freedom, my newfound independence, my new life into which I have so comfortably settled.  Even if we hire sitters to be with P at night and when I need to go out, my house will not be my own.  I will lose the solitude I so crave, the silence and peace that feeds my creativity and keeps me writing.

Lawrence is going to help me buy a decorative deck box into which to deposit all my liquor and wine.  It will look like a bench, even have a cushion on top.  I can store meds in my little lock box, but I’ll have to keep the key on a string around my neck in order to keep P from getting his hands on it.  I’ll have to lock up my car keys when I come in the house.  I won’t be able to smoke weed at bedtime to control my nighttime pain.  

Honey will suffer if P is manic.  She will revert to hiding in the bottom of my closet or behind the toilet, and she will be a nervous wreck.  Why do I have to sacrifice my best friend’s wellbeing?  

Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself.  I deserve a pity party.  I’m sitting here drinking good Vodka and chain smoking, trying to decide if I want to ask a friend to come over for shrimp creole night.  The sauce has been cooking all day.  He's a good and steady friend, and sharing a meal with a nice man who has no designs on me, just wants to be my friend, would do me good. 

So, I'm going to call him up. 

Later - He brought the French bread!


Lola said...

Thanks for visiting - and glad you liked the post!

Judie said...

CJ, why can't P. just stay where he is in Savannah? Surely they will not release him in his current condition! Is there no other safe place for him? I am so sorry that this thing is chasing you around with no end in sight! If he does get out, can't Laurence take him for a while?

Judie said...

Sorry! I went back and read move. I thought he was still in Savannah. You must feel like you are in some hellish nightmare in which you are speaking in a strange language which no one else can understand, and you are desperately trying to get a point across.