Xmas cat

Steve encountering my Christmas spirit

Wednesday 24th December 2008

Steve was back before 9pm last night (tho he’d been out since 3 I suppose), which was a bit of a pain in a way, because I had to put up with his drunken declarations of love all through the last epi of ‘Survivors’! In another way it was a relief, because I’d been very slightly stressed about whether he’d chat anyone up – or I would have been if I’d given myself time. Instead I’d done two loads of washing and ironing, cleaned the kitchen and got all the washing up done – all good Xmas preparation.

I was doing the last of the ironing when he got in.

‘Didn’t you miss me?’ he said.

‘Course I did.’

‘You didn’t phone me or text me’

‘You don’t want your girlfriend texting you when you’re having fun with your friends.’

‘Yes I do’

But I know otherwise. I never text him first, and only ever phone him if I think he’s forgotten his methadone prescription. He doesn’t know it, but he doesn’t like being chased.

He wasn’t going to go to work today, but I said I would be busy getting the house ready all morning, so he might as well go. Of course, this was interpreted as meaning ‘I’m getting a man round for a shag tomorrow morning so I need you at work.’ But he has gone after reassurance (and the promise that if he stayed he’d be cleaning the bathroom, including the toilet). He really does try hard sometimes.

Yesterday night had a weird Xmassy experience driving home. It was my late finish, so it was dark, and the lights from the cars moving both ways down the M54 were quite mesmerising. I was listening to ‘Everything’s Not Lost’ by Coldplay, and I had this feeling of being part of the whole of humanity. Dunno if it was everyone thinking Xmas thoughts, or just me, but it was an odd minute of so of connectedness. It felt like when I had a past life regression and ended up dead – it was what being dead felt like. Though obviously we cannot be sure of what is actually going on in a ‘past life regression’ – it may not be a past life at all, so me being dead might not have been me being dead.

Right, I’m confusing myself now, so I’m off to read a bit of a trash novel before Small Child wakes.


Monday 24th December 2018

Something you become used to when you are with a sociopath is how you never have peace, not really. You are always on pins, wondering what they are doing, or you are devastated, having found out what they were doing, or you are getting over what they did. And then it all starts over again. It’s like a mental version of the cycle of abuse (pictured below if you aren’t familiar)



When people would say that being with their partner was like wearing comfy old slippers, I’d feel sorry for them. I’d rather high-heels any day – who wants to ‘settle’?

But it meant I never had an peace – after the first few weeks, I was never able to truly relax and enjoy the relationship – there was always some threat or drama going on, or about to go on, or I was getting over the latest drama. Just endless.

No wonder I lost weight – and it stayed off. I’ve never had a great relationship with food, but the stress meant that I was often afraid to eat. I lived on chocolate mainly. It didn’t go un-noticed – at a Christmas meal a work colleague said, ‘it’s the first time I’ve seen Karen eat real food.’

It also meant I was never truly happy. Even at my happiest, in a little corner of my brain would lurk that thought, ‘until the next thing.’

Freedom has meant being secure in my happiness, and feeling truly peaceful at Christmas.



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