Five days with my ex-girlfriend ended in dysphoria and disaster

I just got back to Grantham after spending 5 days with K, my ex-girlfriend in Runcorn.   As I predicted before I left when I had my doubts about going at all, it all ended very badly.  Once again, yours truly was duped into thinking that she cared about me, but she just took advantage of me and caused me a lot of dysphoria.  The only positives from the entire experience was that I did like spending time with her son and her cats, one of which is Lily and Madge’s sister.  Her son has grown up a lot and I hope that he will grow up to be a decent human being, in spite of his mother and his grandmother.

I did a lot of cleaning, mostly the bathroom, kitchen and living room.  There’s still an awful lot to be done in terms of de-cluttering, but I couldn’t help her with that.  The agreement was that she was going to pay half of the cost of my train tickets and provide food while I was there, but that never materialised and I ended up buying food because I’m a moron.  Her son repeatedly referred to me as her ‘slave’, although that wasn’t against me, but rather his mother as he is smarter than I am and knew damn well that she was just using me.  He paid me the ultimate compliment by saying that he likes me because I’m not creepy or weird.  You have no idea how much of a compliment that is from someone who is brutally honest, when normal and non-creepy are all I really want to be.

We went out just once, to a LGBT event in Liverpool, which was okay in itself, but I had to drink a lot of alcohol to reduce my shyness and anxiety.  K tried to hook me up with one of her transgender friends, but I wasn’t really interested.  What triggered my dysphoria is that she said that this friend of hers “looks like a man” and that’s why she wouldn’t date her.  She kept saying it, but it didn’t hit me until later on, when I realised that it was horribly transphobic and it caused me to assume that she must see me that way too, which in turn caused her to block me on Facebook and on her phone, as if she’d done nothing wrong.  She had the audacity to tell me “you haven’t changed at all” in reference to my mental health problems and self-hatred,  but for someone who claims to be such a huge trans ally, she is nothing but a bigot and a hypocrite.

On the way back from the queer event meeting in Liverpool, she forced us to take a train packed with 99% male football supporters on the way back home from a Liverpool match.  It was so bad that I had to get off the train and suffered a panic attack.  She has always put me at risk like that; nothing changes.

Like I said, I feel like I’ve been taken advantage of and it hurts.  We even talked about me moving in with her and her son and for a short while, I was actually looking forward to the idea, because it would have meant getting out of Grantham and moving to a more progressive part of the UK, where I thought I’d have a friend and maybe cuddle buddy too.  But she just wanted to use me as a cleaner and babysitter again, just like she did in 2016.  Yesterday she went out and disappeared for 7 hours, leaving me with her son.  She thinks that my depression is something she doesn’t want her son to be exposed to, but she has exposed him to her shitty friends and partners, which her son described to me as “creepy and weird” and I believe him.

I came back to Grantham via Edinburgh because I’d accidentally booked a return ticket from Edinburgh to Grantham a month ago.  I had planned to do stuff in Edinburgh, but after the shit with my ex hit me, I wasn’t in the mood and I got very drunk instead.  Edinburgh was too crowded and there were too many families and kids, so I took a train to Longniddry instead and just sat at the train station drinking vodka mixed with Lucozade and watched the high speed trains whiz by.  I must’ve looked as fucking depressed as I feel, because some random lady on the opposite platform asked if I was okay.  When I left the station to find a toilet, I was stopped by the police, as she must’ve contacted them.  I managed to bullshit my way out of it and convinced them that I wasn’t about to jump in front of a train by getting into a conversation about how upset I am about Brexit, to which the male policeman agreed with me.  They were both very nice and I know they were just doing their job, but yet another do-gooder who just wanted to prevent a suicide, rather than the causes of suicide almost landed me in deep shit.  I wasn’t going to jump in front of a train, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to.

I can’t even appreciate Edinburgh’s beauty anymore.  It’s just another place that reminds me of what I’m missing out on and what I’ll never be.   I thought it was just Rochester, but it’s everywhere and it’s the era that I’m now living in, full of online activists, online allies, ‘movements’, do-gooders and saviors.  It’s impossible for me to fit in anywhere, make a real friend or survive and function normally in this ‘plastic’ era, full of people who truly don’t give a fuck.

My therapist in Rochester emailed me back to say that they’re trying to work something out for me there, but I’m not sure if that will work out or if I’d even be able to ho back there for a third time.  I do regret returning to the UK though, to a shitty family, a fake friend and to an ex who I should have told to get lost for good a long time ago.  I’m as socially isolated here as I was in Rochester, but without the healthcare and the support.  The England-based demons that pertain to my past and my upbringing have caused me to hate my mother so much that I cannot help lashing out at her for the favouritism towards my 2 younger / perfect half siblings who I also hate.  The only things I’ve gained from returning to the UK is a drinking problem that I have lost control of and depleted savings.

I sat on a bench in St. Andrew Square in Edinburgh, half drunk and with my head in my hands just hoping that someone would sit next to me and ask me if I was okay, but no one did.  I guess I should have expected no one to care, in a city full of tourists and snobby people that pass by as homeless people beg for change.  I felt completely and utterly alone, wishing that I was still with S (my ex-wife) enjoying what is a beautiful city together, blending in and looking normal like everyone else.  She’d have loved Edinburgh; we’d have loved Edinburgh together.

Walking back home from Grantham train station was somewhat scary, especially after what happened a couple of weeks ago.  There were groups of teenagers outside takeaway shops that I had to cross the street to avoid.  I kept my earphones stuffed in my ears and the volume of my music up as high as possible to drown out any abuse they might’ve hurled my way.  It’s now almost 1 am and I’m drinking vodka and coke, because I can’t sleep.

I don’t know what to do anymore and I would welcome advice at this point.  I’m truly at the end of my rope.  I have nothing here…nothing to live for, just dread and homelessness in my very near future.

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