Gotta start somewhere

It's been almost a month. I'm sleeping on the floor (on my mattress, because like fuck was I leaving that) of a friend's spare room, about 10 miles from work. I'm drinking a lot, but not going out every night and drinking like I was, just drinking here, with one or both of the two people I feel like seeing on a regular basis. I'm sick a lot too, whether because of the stress, or the drinking, or because I don't get out to Del Mar to see my chiropractor, or some combination thereof. I spend a lot of time sitting in a darkened room - like right now for example, when I keep trying to tell myself to get up and go for a walk because it's a beautiful day outside, but of course the idea of being out there alone terrifies me, so I won't. And I'm doing exactly what we all might have guessed I would do. I'm an imperfect person; condemn me if you have to.

And I don't feel old anymore. Sure, on bad days I feel depressed, like a failure, like an idiot, like a whore. On most days, I just feel numb. But on good days, I actually feel alive again.

W just found out about all of this; he IMed me and asked how Lui was, and I had to tell him Lui had broken up with me. (That's what I'm calling it - I'm not old enough for the word "divorce".)

"You're not a whore!" he said, when I told him Neuf had been spreading that rumor, even going so far as to convince Martin, who called me at work one day to cuss me out and hang up on me. "At least, not a very good one."

Then he added, "And I think you're strong and wonderful and beautiful and you'll get through it."