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


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.


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