(Content warning Frank descriptions of my thoughts and feelings about the weekend just past)
Seeing them hurt. Seeing them and realising how bad my mental health had been last year really hurt. I mean it’s still pretty bad, I’m still being stupidly gentle with myself to try and make sure the basics are happening or else I’m not going to be able to do any of the big stuff.
But yeah, I wish my insight into my own brain was better, I wish I’d realised quite how much I had been dissolving before last year.
Seeing them was good.
They looked good. There was a moment when I saw them smiling and hand in hand when my heart soared. Then they saw I was there, their faces fell and they hurried off, that wasn’t so good.
There were moments of sheer – how the fuck did I manage to mess this up so badly followed by – oh yeah, that’s how.
I’m glad I went, everyone who was there is excellent fun to be with, but the constant nagging sensation of letting my friends down is no fun at all.
I got to see their new tattoos which I liked, and roleplay with them and wish like hell I had had a better grasp on myself last year. But then again if I’d been firing on all cylinders would things have happened at all? And wouldn’t I rather there be something than nothing?
I miss my friends a great deal.