Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

This (Sunday) was the worst day I've had in months.

Two sleeping pills and half a dozen Librium and I still spent most of it bouncing off the walls.
The rest was spent crying in bed.

I'm not stupid -- I know it's not a coincidence that yesterday was the first time I'd had contact with he who left me in a month. I know I shouldn't have done it.

But I thought if he still loved me (as he has always said he does) he would be pleased to hear from me. I thought he might be just a bit sorry for the mess he left me in. I thought he might want to find a way forward, so that we could be friends, or something.
I thought he might at least offer to pay back some of the money he owes me or take his fucking stuff away.

But no.
Yesterday ended on the usual 'shut up and fuck off' text, and today, nothing.

I know he's ill, and I know it's a big deal.

Actually, I don't know anything.
I guess cutting me out is what he always did. It just hurts more now because we've been so close.

Daughter number one is resisting the urge to say 'I told you so,' just about. Unfortunately I can't be so gentle on myself.

But this isn't the Andrew Daniell I fell in love with. That one was gentle, and sweet, and cared.
Or maybe he was just a better actor than this one is.
I don't know any more.

I feel like shit. I have a really bad urge to hurt myself, so I'm just going to take more pills, go to bed, and pray it goes away.