When I flew home yesterday I didn’t have a car. My sister had borrowed it for the week and hadn’t returned it when I got home. It’s not like I have any friends who are going to pick me up and do stuff with me so I was stuck at home the whole day.
When my taxi pulled up outside the house the first thing I saw was my Dad prepping the front of the house to be painted. I managed to sneak up the driveway and go in the back door without him seeing me. One of my housemates was home so I had a quick chat with her – not in depth as I was getting changed to go out and she was cleaning out her room.
I snuck past my Dad for a second time and went to the park for two hours. After I’d finished cutting laps of the lake I went home and found that my Dad’s car was gone. Sweet. He’s gone home, I thought.
So I went back to my room and lay on my bed for a while. I’d been there for about a quarter of an hour when I heard my Dad talking to my housemate. Apparently he’d just gone home for lunch. Since the place I’m staying in has wooden floor boards you can hear everybody moving around the house and the sound travels quite well. I heard my housemate tell my Dad she would tell me that he’s here and she walked to the doorway of my room.
I was crying and my eyes were closed at the time so I don’t know what her reaction was, but I heard her footsteps pause for a little longer than you’d stop to try and find someone. She went back to my Dad and told him that I wasn’t home and I must’ve walked to the shops to do some food shopping.
She shortly left and my Dad carried on painting the outside of the house. I was very grateful for what my housemate did so I sent her a text thanking her for covering for me. Her reply was,
“You are there! Hope you feel ok…”
“Yeah it’s just fly in day. Sometimes I just lose it”
That was a little bit of a lie. I have lost it for the past four times running. That is the first indication I’ve given anybody in the house that something isn’t quite right. I curled up on the floor of my room for another two hours and eventually my Dad left the house. He banged very loudly on the back door a few times to see if I was there but I didn’t move. I got a phone call on my mobile from my Mum shortly after he left. I managed to be as short as possible and rejected her offer of dinner. I told her I might catch up with her on Monday or Tuesday.
I had another chat with my housemate in the afternoon though we still haven’t talked about the text messages. I was interrupted by a phone call from work and eventually her friends came around so they could go out for dinner.
After the house was empty I was at a loss. My sister was going to come around after she finished work that night and drop off her car – so I would have to drive her home, that means no whisky for me. My normal methods of self medication also appeared to be quite destructive this time so I decided against those. So I paced around the house for about an hour, then I tried to sleep on the wooden floor boards of my room. About eight o clock my second housemate came home. My door was open but my light was off so she didn’t think I was home. She went to bed without disturbing me.
At about half nine my sister gave me a call to tell me that she was at the front door. We drove back to my parents place without too much conversation, and I dropped her off without going inside. My Mum let my sister inside and when she realised I wasn’t going to stop I think she started crying. I haven’t spoken to my parents in two weeks and I didn’t bother telling them I was going to return two days later than normal.
After I got home I got stuck into my abun’dah. I’d barely quaffed my first glass when my housemate and her friends started coming home. I stashed the bottle back on the booze shelf and went to my room before they saw me.
Thus ended another fly in day. This morning I’m going to email my boss and ask if I can fly back to work a day early. That will mean I just need to get through two more days at home. Same old problem. Running away etc. etc. However I don’t see the point of staying here. It feels so immature but I just hate being lonely. Loneliness never used to bother me this much. I think as I’ve matured I’ve realised that family and friends are the most important things you can have, and I don’t have either – at least I can’t see the family sticking around long.
My mood swings at work are becoming worse, and I’m not sure how long I can keep the facade up. I’ve lost my hiding place at home, when I lose my hiding place at work then I’ll need to start looking at other options. I’ve got two options. Travel around the world until I either find my will to live or I run out of money – which I estimate could last about two to three years if I enter hardcore backpacker mode. Or take the hit and get some kind of therapy. Certainly the backpacker option gives me more street cred, but I think most people on this website would agree that it’s not the answer.