Once is a mistake, twice is a choice. And it’s inexcusable. And I know what I’m doing is bad and that everyone (including me) is going to get hurt. But yet I go back for more… Why? Why am I doing this? I love the attention, I love knowing he’s staring at me across the room, I love the secrecy, the lying, the sneaking about, the thrill of the moment that I am finally safe in his arms. The sex is magic. I like learning all about him, his life, his plans for the future. The best part is falling asleep next to someone, and waking up next to someone. I’ve missed that so much. Sleeping alone is still strange to me. So it’s nice to fall asleep with his arms round me, our heartbeats and breathing in sync, peaceful. But I could have that with any guy, why the fucking fuck did I decide it had to be him?
I need to talk about this with C and LC when I’m at the psych unit on Thursday. My attitude towards everything is wrong: sex, relationships, alcohol, self-esteem. I really need to stop slutting around. This town is small and everyone knows everyone. My promiscuity is out of control and actually, I don’t think all this casual sex is making me happy. Actually, I usually feel awful afterwards. Plus I’m not being safe with it either which is so impossibly stupid of me. I need to stop. I must.
I can’t help but keep putting myself down and apologising to him for not being good enough and justifying myself to him for not being perfect. He tells me not to say such things, he tells me that I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, he asks why I think so badly about myself. I suppose if someone you love tells you that you’re fat and ugly and stupid and psychopathic enough times then you start to believe them.
My heart hurts an extraordinary amount, and so I am practically begging pretty strangers to fix it, to make it stop hurting, to take me somewhere nice, away from here. I give everyone a chance to be the one who makes me happy again but nobody has really come through. These men know nothing more than football and smoking weed and their laborious day-job. All the same, they’re all the same. Why is it so hard to find a man in this town who has read a book? Sigh.
Right. I need to distance myself. No going out until after Thursday’s appointment. No alcohol. No sex, with anyone. Just coffee and smokes and books.