And THEN, just when I think it’s safe to say that I’m really, truly well in mind and body, along comes a sucker punch that just knocked me into the middle of next week.
You think you can trust people pretty well after being around them for a few decades. Well, I’m here to tell you that that’s not always the truth. From the very last person I would’ve ever expected, I have now had the lovely experience of being trashed on Facebook. In addition to portraying me in the worst possible light, this person’s missive used my MI against me to accuse me of being too unstable to deal with life, as well as bare-assed lying about something that went down completely differently from the way it was described in the post.
It would’ve been one thing if this stuff had been said in a private message. I wouldn’t have liked it, nor would I have agreed with it, but I would defend their right to think it and say it. What hurt was that I knew this person was upset with me, and looking at it from their perspective I could understand why; but I never thought for a minute that they hated me enough to smear me all over a social medium.
To say that I did not handle this well would be the understatement of the week. I felt like a soap-opera heroine who’d just found out her man was stepping out on her, with all the attendant feelings of hurt, betrayal, anger, more hurt, disillusionment, and more anger. Only this wasn’t Hollywood, this was real life, and a person I loved very much had just ripped my heart to shreds in front of God and who knows how many readers.
So I did what any self-respecting bipolar alcoholic would and sat there staring at the computer, re-reading the text for hours, and wishing for numbness. Or failing that, for a nice big sinkhole to open up and swallow me. Sure, the post was untrue……sure, the people who really know me would think it was bullshit…..but considering where it had come from, the thought that ANYONE could read it and think that I was an unstable, selfish, cold-hearted bitch just killed my soul.
Look, any asshole can rip me on a public forum, and I just figure that it says a lot more about them than it does me. But when it’s somebody I’ve trusted and been close to, well, that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.
I haven’t taken a drink in almost 22 years, but the old cravings came roaring back and I looked around for something to still them without jumping into the car and hauling ass down to the liquor store. All I wanted was to be numb for a while….to allow the worst of the pain to ebb away until I was strong enough again to face it.
Without going into detail, let’s just say I found a magic formula that allowed me to sleep for a few hours…..fifteen of them, to be exact. Typically, my husband overreacted and stayed awake most of the night watching me to make sure I was still breathing (much like he used to back in my drinking days when he really NEEDED to). He’d also called our daughter to tell her about what had happened, and she had then passed the word to our youngest son. Bad news does, indeed, travel fast.
This evening, I’m still a little groggy and remorseful for scaring him, but I also feel calmer about all of this, even as I know I’ll have to confront the situation at some point soon. I wish I hadn’t given my family cause to worry—it’s not like I OD’d, and I’m so not suicidal it’s not even funny. I simply needed not to feel for a little while. Besides……I wouldn’t give that person the satisfaction of making me self-harm, or touching off a mood episode. We’ve tangled before, but this is one battle they’re NOT gonna win.
Gee, and to think that I almost canceled next Monday’s p-doc appointment because I didn’t have anything to talk about…