Last night I told the housemate I'm closest to (I have two) about the overdose. For someone who is about to embark on a career as a mental health nurse and spends her days going on and ON about how caring/altrustic/in touch with people's feelings she is, she handled it pretty damn terribly. She was what I can only describe as extremely blase and dismissive, like I hadn't even said anything. My concern about telling her in the first place was that, as someone with mental health problems herself, I didn't want to worry her or quite honestly allow her to take it and make it a problem of hers ("oh my life's so shit and now my housemate is trying to kill herself" etc). So far it's not looking like she's even registered it, which I guess is the preferred reaction but it makes me regret telling her in the first place. If I knew she wasn't going to care at all then why did I bother telling her and risking my own wellbeing?

I know what people would say, they'd say "aww she just doesn't know what to say". I hate that response, it angers me, I expect people to feel as I would in that position. According to a good friend of mine though, I have an affinity with people and a skill for empathy. I don't know how true that is but according to my friend the hardest lesson I will have to learn as someone with that skill and affinity is to realise that most other people don't have it, and as such I will be disappointed by the limits of others in their ability to empathise and express caring sentiments.

I hope all of that makes sense. I may still find that she has a ridiculous hissy fit over the whole thing and that it turns into "I can't possibly relax in a house when I think you might kill yourself" which is my fear. If so, I'll just have to plan my departure I guess.

This is all so bloody hard.