I am the Queen of disjointed thinking. I like your hat! :-D

Archive for April, 2012


Here’s the very long story of why if I call you on the phone, it means I think very highly of you.

When I was 17, my boyfriend lived with my family.  He was very depressed, by which I mean diagnosed with clinical depression.  He was prescribed antidepressants, but he wouldn’t take them.  He said they made him feel tired and that was it.  Tiredness in the first few weeks taking antidepressants is normal, but he wouldn’t believe anyone who told him that.  He wouldn’t believe anything anyone told him.
I find that’s how you spot a liar.  A liar will never believe you, will always think you are lying to them.

While boyfriend was living with my family, he was arrested for armed robbery.
He was granted bail, and his registered address was mine, so every night, that’s where he had to be.
I didn’t understand why he’d done it.  I was confused, but, due to reasons I won’t go into at this stage, I felt responsible for him.  I had to stay with him.
He told me he was sick of Maryborough.  He told me he’d wanted the money to go to Brisbane.  He said when he was settled he was going to send for me, but I don’t believe him.

The morning of one of his court appearances, he wouldn’t talk to me.  He wouldn’t touch me.  He wouldn’t look at me.  In the courtroom, without warning, he changed his address back to his mother’s.  I gasped and was chastised by a female police officer for making noise in the court, but this was news to me; this is how I found out my boyfriend was moving out.

Living at home, his depression got worse.  His doctors all agreed he should never be left alone.  His mother and sister, his only family in town, decided this would be a great time to go to Sydney, leaving him alone for a week.  A whole week.  This woman’s son is depressed and suicidal, and she says, “Hey, let’s go to Sydney!” I can’t even!

The first day I spent with him in town, the second day I spent with him at his home.  When I was leaving to go home that evening, he held me very close.  He kissed me.  He told me he would always love me, even into the next life.  He told me he couldn’t go on anymore, and I probably wouldn’t see him again.

I told mum what he’d said, and she told me to call him as soon as I got home.  I did.  The phone rang out.  I tried again in half an hour.  The phone rang out.  I called back in the morning.  Rang out.  Every two hours, the phone rang out.  I went to his house and knocked on the door.  Nothing.  I called from my mobile, I listened to the phone ringing inside the house.

I wanted to contact the police or something, but mum said they couldn’t do anything without proof.
So I called.  The phone rang out.
I learned that a fixed line phone rings 32 times if you call it from another fixed line, but only 17 if you call it from a mobile.

I called every half hour.  Every half hour I heard the phone ring out.  I was certain he’d killed himself and I wouldn’t find out until his mother got home.

He was fine.  His mother came home and he called me.  He gave me a detailed account of what he was doing every time I’d called, and when I came to the door.  He’d made a list.

Every time I call someone, even for business, while the phone is ringing before they answer I’m taken back to that time.  I feel my stomach tie in knots more and more with every ring.

But if you mean a lot to me, I will still call you.  As my heartbeat races and my stomach churns I will hold on until you answer.  I count each ring and feel myself begin to sweat, but I’ll do it.


To clarify, if someone calls me, I don’t have the same reaction.  When someone calls me, I only have to deal with the constant confusion of not knowing what they are talking about or how they are meaning what they say, as I can’t piece together verbal and body language and I become very overwhelmed.
If I know someone well in person, that’s not a problem.  If I’ve spoken to someone in person enough times, I can see them in my mind.  I can see their face, I can see how they are moving and I understand what they are saying to me.

This is what is on my mind, so I thought I’d share it, as that’s what over-sharey personal blogs are for.  Also, you can all feel free to use the word “over-sharey”.  Actually, use it a lot.  I AM THE NEXT DICKENS!

Love you, people in my computer.

The Pretty Kitty.


Can you tell me the difference between love and pain?

I won’t give you details.  I won’t tell you deeply about my past loves.  I won’t give you details here about my first boyfriend who dated me to make a friend jealous, and was then arrested for armed robbery.  I won’t tell you about my next boyfriend, who became my fiance and was so angry at me for being raped while we were together that he hit me, called me a slut and refused to pay back money he owed me.  That’s all my ex boyfriends.  That’s all my experience with relationships.  I know it’s not much, but it was plenty enough to teach me I’ll never actually be wanted.
I never felt that I was truly in love with either of them, but I told everyone I was.  I was supposed to be in love; that’s what’s normal.  It’s not normal for someone to be my age, and have had no romantic relationships, so in a desperate bid to be normal, I said I loved the men who said they loved me.
It’s been years since my fiance left me, and I’ve been alone since then.
I’ve actually felt love.  I’ve felt so much love for two people since then.  I’ve felt that my heart is on fire with joy when they speak to me; I’ve felt that all I want in life is their happiness.  I’ve felt if they were cold to me I may actually shrivel and die.
The first one was over a year ago.  That ended badly.  I told that person how I felt, and was not let down at all gently.  I felt my heart break… well, I felt difficulty swallowing, shallow breathing and chest pain, emotionally felt my life draining away and had no desire to eat for over a week.  Felt a bit heart-breaky, really.
I feel so much love again, now.  It’s mixed up with that same heart-breaky feeling.  Absolutely literally pining, and if you know me you’ll know I don’t take the word “literally” lightly.  If you don’t know me, I just told you, so now you know as well.
I feel sick.
Let me try to explain how I feel here.  I flirt a lot.  With everyone.  It’s just what I do.  If I don’t flirt with you it’s either because I hate you or we’re related by blood or both, but now I feel bad for flirting with people who aren’t him.  I feel sort of heavy inside, check myself, and try to stop without seeming cold or unlike myself.
He’s on my mind all the time.  I feel light and heavy inside, at the same time, every time I hear from him.

When is love, love?  First touch?  First kiss?  First conversation?  First time you look into their eyes?  Is it real love if when they talk romantically about someone else, you feel your heart break, but you just want them to be happy and have all the love and rainbows and sunshine in the world, even if they don’t want it from you?
(I’m trying to approach this from an angle of humour, let me know if I accidentally touch anything remotely like a joke…)

Good God I feel broken!  Not just my heart, but my spirit.  I feel there’s pieces missing that will never be put back.
I’ve been crying pretty constantly for a few hours.  Had a small coughing fit and realised I was sort of drowning in my own tears just a little bit, there.  Elected to stop crying.  Plan failed.  Cried til I ran out of tears, instead.

Probably not normal.

I will never be a grown up, will I?  I’ll forever be the fifteen year old girl I never really got a chance to be.  As long as I am sore I will be petty.
I fully expect this to achieve nothing.  I’m at peace with dying alone and being eaten by my cats, and frankly good on the cats, keeping themselves alive!

I feel a little better now.  Still heavy and broken inside, and still torn apart by love, but better.  If you read this far, well done, you!

Signed with love overflowing,

The Pretty Kitty