I had to run an errand during lunch, so I missed the grilled cheese sandwiches...most everything was picked over; even the salad. Granted, they would have fixed me one, but when I really thought about it, my breakfast at 10 was still going strong; since I wasn't really that hungry, I figured I'd eat when I got off work. I decided against getting the tomato soup; I'm in a white shirt, which spells trouble when mixed with soup, unless I'm drinking it out of a mug, and sometimes even then. :)
Oh, well. It's a dark and stormy afternoon and I just listened to a good friend spend about a half-hour talking about the things I do that frustrate him. On the one hand, I understand, and I'm glad he told me, and gladder that he's stood by me all these years and all my borderlineness. I know he doesn't understand why I do things that shoot me in the foot later. I'm just beginning to, and I'm making changes, but it seems like I can only do little steps at a time, and I don't know how far I'm really getting. I do know I've pretty much reached the end of being able to rely on anyone else for help and I'm pretty much going to have to go it alone. But I've said so enough times that I feel about an inch tall now, and I'm crying, and I know that I really shouldn't be. I think I understand a little how an addict feels, or someone with an eating disorder. Have I mentioned how much I hate mental illness lately?
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