Apparently

Apparently a friendship is not about closeness, caring or honesty. No, according to V, its about stimulation.

If you can't stimulate a person, you can't be their friend.

V had planned to avoid me until Christmas, and then decide if we could still be friends, as I wasn't stimulating her.

I am not a fucking entertainer, to be dragged out of the box on a slow fucking day.

I am really hurt.

Why is it that the people I meet have the unerring need to shit on me from a great height?

Last night I told V to make her mind up now, as I have no intention of playing at being friends for six weeks, just to be told to fuck off at the end of the day. Frankly, I couldn't pretend to be friends with someone with the Sword of Damocles hanging over the friendship anyway.

Today I relented somewhat, and sent an email telling her to take her time, but I'm not available until an answer is deliverable, amongst other things.

I am so fucking glad to be on anti-depressants today, I don't think I would be coping otherwise, for the last couple of weeks I have been fighting thoughts of self-harm, and desperately trying to keep positive, now this.

I wouldn't mind so much, but I fucking hide my state from everyone but my parents, and the people foolish enough to ask repeatedly, all I wanted to do with V, was meet up and get away from my life for an evening or two, not offload all my fucking crippling fucking clinical fucking depression.

She has no idea how hard it is to go out and meet people while suffering with crushing self -loathing, and still be happy and enter-fucking-taining.

On days like this I have to remind myself I'm a parent, for no other reason, the thoughts have to stay thoughts and not actions.

And no, I'm not being a fucking drama queen, I'm talking about how I fucking feel, a perfectly fucking valid therapy for being shat on.