I'm at the pub. I'm here because I don't want to be at home. I feel like I don't want to be at home because I don't feel happy or (emotionally) safe with my partner. I don't feel happy or safe with my partner because I made a small comment that turned into an ugly conversation. The ugly conversation led to me asking to gt out of the (moving) car. My partner told me I could get out if I wanted, and kept driving, even though I had the seatbelt off and the door open.
By the time we got home, I felt devastated. Churning inside and just horrendous. Aching for a drink, and a cigarette, I brought myself here. I really didn't know where else to go. This feels safer than home. This feels friendlier than home. At least I am calling it home again. I stopped that, for quite a long time.
So, what now? I don't know. I don't want to go home. That feels like it will just lead to more angst, and more nastiness. Why inflict that on myself?
So, why didn't I just sort it out then and there, on the spot? Well, I felt like I tried, and that it didn't work. Maybe I didn't try hard enough.
So, what does being here achieve? A safe distance from the bad feelings, I guess. Does it make anything actually better? No, I guess not.
Is there another way? Yes, I suppose there is, but whatever it is, I'm not very good at it. Damn. I so want, when I am feeling good, to be better at it. When I feel like this, I just want everything to go away. Damn. Damn. Damn.
What happened to all my "progress"? What happened to all my good intentions? What happened to the happy?
Happy, for today, has packed up and gone home. Happy is a spoiled little brat and can turn on a dime and run away, tail between legs, at the smallest signs of confrontation. Happy is quivering under the bed, crying, curled in a small ball. Damn.
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