Dog day aftermath

Sheesh, yesterday was a rough day. Lots of navel-gazing, obsessive self-analysis, followed by a tumble into depression in the evening. I ended up washing down my daily venelafaxine dose with a bottle of white wine.

On days like that I get the "what's the point in trying" feeling and have a tendency to just write the day off. When you feel that bad, sometimes it's too difficult to work your way out of it so on occasion I'll go to bed early and miserable in the hope that I'll feel better the next day. I hit the sack circa 9pm yesterday, but I didn't get to sleep until the early hours of this morning. The fucking stalker called me five times last night while I was trying to get to sleep so I just let the battery on the phone run flat. Earlier he popped round and knocked on the door (thank heaven for small mercies) too but I managed to persuade my housemate to answer it while I cowered in the kitchen, making a bacon sandwich whilst sitting on the kitchen floor so he couldn't see me through the kitchen window.

I don't know what it is that I'm doing wrong, but I seem to get only the kind of social company and contact that I don't want, and none of the kind of contact that I want and need. I guess I'll just have to muddle onwards, keep concentrating on me and the things I need to get done, and hope everything else works itself out in the background. Unfortunately the harder I try, the worse I seem to make things.

Anyway, I've sent the e-mail to my Mac store bosses to solicit feedback on how well I'm doing and I feel a little better for sending it. I also awoke this morning to find I have the day off - I'd completely forgotten about it and - unusually - I don't have individual or group therapy today so it is a genuine, 24-karat day off.

Wow...what'll I do? Probably laundry and house-move planning, although I should probably do something 'nice' for me too. Just as long as it doesn't cost more than ten bucks *smiles*.