KOOL-AID: sleep. fecking sleep.

Have you been keeping up with Almost Drank the Kool-Aid? If not, this probably won’t make any sense to you. You can catch up from the beginning by selecting the Kool-Aid menu above.

 

sleep. fecking sleep.

Am not sure if is actual insomnia. Has not been medically diagnosed, of course. And do not think if forcing self to stay awake constitutes as insomnia.

Paranoia not entirely without merit. Last night was having cigarette at back door — getting closer and closer to smoking inside — when heard vehicle. Nipped around to side of house to get a look. Vehicle moving slowly. Very slowly. Crouched self down behind shrub of some kind. In the darkness. Vehicle practically hovered outside cottage. Now. Should point out is a dead end row. Perhaps twenty meters behind Landlord’s gates. No reason for any person to go down there.

But this car did. Could not see inside of vehicle which was, understandably, terribly frustrating. Vehicle moved on, beyond gates. Stayed crouched. Waited for the sound of the vehicle doing three point turn. Is only option. Tiny road down there. Pathetic. Car not so slow on way back. Faster than necessary. Could not get reading of licence plate. Nor make of vehicle. Am pretty shit at distinguishing makes of cars.

Obviously, could be someone who took wrong turn. Suppose to go right at end of village instead of left.

Is what annoys me about entire situation. If was normal person who had been living normal life would not be having mild anxiety of vehicle passing house. Would not be spending entire night wondering about who it was and what they were doing. Or how coincidental it is that this happens the same way I receive those caring emails.

No sleep, so insane amount of time to think. Most thoughts are about him. Haven’t talked about him. Have to think of another name for him. Fucker. Wanker. Man who get me into this mess.

Yes, yes, made own decisions. But decisions would have been anything, no matter what, to stay without him. Had already been forced apart from him once, was not about to do that again.

Took years of mourning to get over relationship. For a long time was in denial. No. This was just a blip. He just needs some time on his own. We’ll be together again, surely. We were meant to be together. He promised me I was the only thing that mattered. Pleaded he was nothing without me. wanted us to live on the moon. Away from everyone. Away from those who put us down, who didn’t understand our relationship. Who didn’t understand love.

Promises, promises, promises.

All of which he broke.

Thought he loved me.

Could understand not wanting to be with me — it was too hard maybe. Too volatile, too passionate. Too everything. Maybe we’d be those couples. Sad stories of two people how loved one another madly but just couldn’t be together.

What could not understand, though, and I guess what surprised me, was the complete disregard for me as a person. Avoiding me. Having me banned from certain church venues because he didn’t want to risk running into me.

The worst of it, though: not helping me when I needed it the most. He knew what was happening to me. Of course he did. Saw me that day he came to the base. When he got to stay in the VIP quarters. The church palace, they call it. Middle of the fucking dessert yet the grounds of the palace are emerald green. Palm trees and fucking rock pools. And they sent me in there to clean his fucking toilet.

Is all I can thinking about. My mind is a fucking nightmare. A mass of thoughts am finding it difficult to wade my way through.

Sleep. That’s what I need. Fucking sleep.

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