Just wondering, do I look fat or ugly? Because HAM hardly ever wants to fuck me anymore. I have to put my hair in pigtails and do my makeup perfect and dress up in slutty clothes and get him drunk before he wants to fuck me. That's too much work. Why can't he just think I'm cute because he loves me? Why do I have to do so much shit just to get some? It's not that I don't like doing all that - it's fun most of the time, but I don't like feeling like I have to do those things to get his attention. Every night, before I even try, he's like, "Damn, I am so tired. I just wanna pass out." So, I can't even try to fuck him at that point. I really don't want to be one of those girls who ends up chasing some poor, undesiring man around the house. I don't wanna be Peg Bundy. And I don't wanna me single forever. I want to get married. And I may or may not want to have a baby. Not that I'm into the idea of child-rearing, but I am into the idea of having someone to take care of me when I'm old. I'm tired of having a really great friend that I sleep next to and spend all my time with - I mean, I like those things, I'm not tired of it, I just want to be desired, and I feel like I'm not and I can't talk to him about it and it sucks. I miss us fucking every night. Now I'm lucky if I get it twice a week, or once a week, and then he has to have a few beers first. It seems like every time we've fucked in the last couple months, it has been after some drinks. It's really stupid. It hurts my feelings and makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. It makes me want to cry. And I have been doing so well on this diet, too! I eat salad every day at lunch, and vegetables and lentils for dinner. I don't eat sugar or anything bad for me. Not even any gluten. My carb intake is way down. I am looking pretty good these days. But I am too poor to get my hair done and nails done, and I guess he needs all that shit, plus lingerie, to have any desire for me. That's what's lame about dating a young guy. He's so superficial. I've rarely had this much trouble getting sex out of my own boyfriend. I feel totally unattractive. The last time I had this much trouble getting sex out of my own boyfriend was when I was in a relationship with a gay guy. I know HAM's not gay, so that means he just doesn't want to fuck me. And like I said, that hurts my feelings a lot. At least I have shit to focus on now, like this memoir writing class and studying for the LSAT. Yeah, I said the LSAT. BG's latest plan is to be an animal rights lawyer. Let's see how long this plan lasts. If I could bet myself, I'd bet until my next period, so about three weeks. I am so tired of giving up on shit, it gets really exhausting. I just want to stick with something. And FUCK I want to move out of my dad's house. And it seems like I will be stuck here forever. I have no money, my hours are getting cut at work, there are no job prospects out there, and everything just sucks my imaginary balls. Oh, and I have folliculitis, so I have to take long-term antibiotics and I can't shave, can't even trim, you know where. Just one more thing to turn HAM off. Great. His birthday is in two days and I'm giving him a $200 gift certificate from me to redeem for tattoo work. I am such an awesome girlfriend and yet I feel neglected sexually. He is still present in other ways, and still sweet, but he just doesn't want to fuck me. I hate it. I think I really need that to feel attractive and loved. I feel like he doesn't really want to be with me if he doesn't want to fuck me. Sorry for saying fuck so much, but we don't make love - we only did that when we were both high on opiates. It turns out that what people say when they are on opiates is all bullshit. So all the "I want to be with you forever" shit is just that - shit. It's meaningless and I didn't realize that until I read "Scar Tissue", Anthony Keidis' memoir. He was a total junkie and he mentioned all the bullshit love talk people spout when they're high on opiates. I am such a fool sometimes. I actually believed everything he said. But it's obviously bullshit because he NEVER says it now. Who knows if he even wants to marry me one day. If one day, then why not at least make plans now? Why not ask me now and then it will happen "one day". But he won't do that, NO, because he doesn't even want to marry me. He doesn't know what he wants. Maybe he wants a place to stay, a ride, I don't know. Maybe he loves me. But I don't think he has any intention of being with me forever. It was just something he said when he was high. 

It's getting harder for me to write lately. I guess because things are going fairly well so I have less to complain about. I still have this underlying fear that HAM is only with me for my money and a place to live, and as soon as he is financially able to move on, he'll go find a younger girl with a bigger butt. He says he loves me, and he says a lot of really sweet things to me, and he's mostly good to me with the occasional making fun of me, but it's never in a mean-spirited way - it's always just playing with me. Even though sometimes I don't like it. So what I mean is, my fear is probably irrational. But then I have this other fear that he really does love me right now, but he'll grow out of this relationship because he's so young and I'll be left close to middle-aged, childless, unmarried, and totally alone. I mean, I suppose it wouldn't be all bad - I could travel to different countries and see the world - something I've always wanted to do. I could move wherever I wanted and I wouldn't have to take anyone else into consideration. I'd probably lose weight because I always lose weight when I'm single. And there are plenty of age-defying tactics available to women these days like botox and whatnot, so I even if I am middle-aged, I don't have to look that way. And sometimes I don't feel 100% happy, because of the teasing. It's really subtle and I'm probably being oversensitive because of past relationships where I was outright abused by men and called horrible names. But I can't talk to him about my past, so if it does bother me, I can't say why. I got him to stop calling me a bird and to stop mimicking my laugh, but he still says other little things...and they are so little I can't even give an example, but I know I don't like how I feel when he says them. But still, that is minor, it's not something to question a relationship over. I love HAM and I want us to stay together. He is absolutely terrified of getting me pregnant. I know he's young and just starting college and it would be terrible timing, and I don't want to have a baby right now either, but I don't think it would be the MOST horrible thing to happen. It would be better than getting Cancer or Aids. Haha, having a baby would be better than contracting AIDS. That's a pretty sad comparison, isn't it? Well, I'm still not sure if I even want to have babies. Part of me thinks, yes, I want kids, a couple, maybe a few, so I have cool adults in my life one day, and someone to take care of me when I'm old. But all that in between time? Like, the baby part would be okay, but then they start to grow and start to develop a personality of their own and then it becomes a neverending battle of wills. Did you go potty? I don't have to go potty. Put your shoes on. I can't find them. You need to wear a coat. I don't want to wear a coat. And then when they get older: You need to be home by eleven. Mom, everyone else's parents let them stay out until midnight! You think you're going out dressed like that? Mom, all the other kids dress like this! You're grounded! I hate you, I wish I was never born! And so on...so basically, I would be okay with a baby, and okay with an adult who lives separately from me, but I don't want a toddler or a teenager or a bitter, resentful 20-something. Can't I just skip all that and just have the good parts of child-rearing? I guess parents think there are more good times than bad, though, and maybe there is something to be said for that. I've never had kids so how would I know how terrible or wonderful it can be? I mean, when I had my dog, he puked every time he went in the car (which was several times a week because of my husband's job), he attacked anything that wasn't human, he was terrified of his own shadow, he was the pickiest eater on the planet, he had horrendous smelling farts, he snored, his breath smelled like rotten poop, and he frequently tried to dry-hump his little sister, but you know what? I loved him no matter what he did, no matter how he smelled or what he ate (he once dug up me and my husband's poop and ate it), no matter how many dogs he attacked, no matter how many times he ran and hid when he heard loud noises, and no matter how many times he puked in the car. I loved him with all my heart. And when he was murdered, my heart broke into a million pieces, never to be fully repaired. So I got his name tattooed on my neck. I loved that dog. I still love that dog. I have a picture of him in my wallet to this day. He was like a child to me, the closest thing I've ever had to a child. So if having children is anything like my relationship with that dog, then I get it. I guess I do get it. Unconditional love.

I'm starting to feel a bit more optimistic and a lot less angry now that my period is toward the end. HAM and I got into a huge fight the night before last and wrapped it up sometime before he went t work yesterday. He has been holding on to a lot of resentment about my talking to and considering going back to ALL. For good reason, but the part that really hurt me was that he was bringing up every relationship I've ever had and how they were all such losers and how I've made so many bad decisions and that makes me untrustworthy. He even said, "I can't imagine being your dad at your wedding and having to give you away to some toothless loser. No wonder he got wasted." I don't know why, but at the time, I thought that was the most painful thing he could say to me. It really hurt. It hurt so much that I was just bawling uncontrollably and had to leave the room so I could go email my dad an apology. I'm not mad at my dad anymore. That's always just a PMS thing and I do it every month. I actually really love my dad and don't want anything bad to happen to him or DL. I want them to be happy. I don't want to disappoint him or make him ashamed of me by my poor decisions. He wrote me a really nice email back, accepting my apology and telling me that he's not ashamed of me and that we're all human. He said some things about his faults as a parent, and his own father's faults as a parent, and that while we're all responsible for our own choices, our upbringing can affect those choices. He said he was too lax with me, didn't enforce any rules, didn't teach me how to manage/ save money, or how to clean up after myself. He always did those things, he just never taught me. But whatever, live and learn, I suppose. But anyway, I asked HAM if he could just say whatever other hurtful things he needed to say because I couldn't go through the pain of it a third time or more. He finally decided to just forget about it, move on and forgive me. He wants me to get my tattoos covered up. That's fine, I've wanted to for a long time, just haven't had the funds or any good ideas on what to cover them up with. I have an E on my ankle and I thought maybe I could change it to Evolve...but the E is in Olde English and that particular font doesn't really convey evolution. So I don't know, I guess I could get a stupid flower. The little girl who I babysit at work sometimes thinks I should get a dragonfly over my ex-husband's name. I'm not really a big fan of dragonflies, so that probably won't happen. I'd like to get another lotus flower. And he also wants me to delete all the pictures of my ex that are on my external hard drive. That's fine, too. It's not that I need them really, except for maybe describing his features in my memoir. That's the other sad thing - he won't read anything I write in my memoir class because he doesn't want to think of me ever being with someone other than him. The rest of it is all fine, but I'm sad I won't be able to get his opinion about my writing because he's such an avid reader that I can trust his feedback. I guess I'll just have to rely on my fellow writers and the instructor. And my mom, of course. Also, my dad says when he gets back from China that he'll talk to his financial advisor to see if it's possible for me to purchase a modest condo. I've been obsessively searching the MLS for condos ever since. What a dream come true, to have my own place - not an apartment or rental of any kind, not even in my dad's name, but really, really MINE. My own little chunk of space on the planet. Fuck. I'm already seeing it my head, imagining the hand made wall mosaic, blown glass chandeliers from HAM's friend, JF, who is a professional glass blower and sells his larger chandeliers for 15k. Of course, we would get a much, much smaller one and hopefully he'd give us a discount. I imagine huge framed painting, maybe even a mural. HAM has an artist friend, who I guess is a heroin addict, but that means he'd probably do it for cheap if he's not too strung out. We want a big, soft, comfortable couch and a Vitamix blender and two dogs. Or one dog to start and then another one, but at least one dog. I think about it day and night. I look at the same places over and over again, waiting for something new to get listed. Although there are several places I want to look at. I can't do anything yet because it's not a guarantee that it will happen, but DEAR GOD, I pray it does! My dad said something about giving us his study so we would have two rooms upstairs and then he could rent out the apartment. That's definitely better than just my bedroom, but still, I don't want to live with my dad anymore or be right next to his bedroom. He's retired - when would we have sex? We certainly couldn't just rip eachother's clothes off in the middle of the kitchen like we have been. Also, when my dad is here, it always feels ike the kitchen is his. I never cook food when he's here because he's always cooking and taking up all the space and I just feel crowded out. Basically, this house ain't big enough for the both of us. If it wasn't for the prospect of owning my own place, I would've moved out long ago. The other exciting news is that we have tickets to see Jay-Z and Kanye's Watch the Throne tour. It's not until December, but it's gonna be AMAZING! The new album is interesting, lots of stuff going on, but some great lyrics and beats, and it seems like they had a lot of fun makng the album. I've been listening to it on repeat since it came out a few days ago. They have a song called HAM, which, in their case, stands for Hard As a Motherfucker. My HAM has had a tattoo on the back of his arm for years that says HAM and recently someone asked him if it stood for Hard As a Motherfucker. I love it. He is pretty hard, I have to say. Damn, I just love that guy. I hope he asks me to marry him one day. I just realized I'm wearing my sunglasses inside, and I've worn them the whole time I've been writing. Damn, I'm more gangsta than I thought.

Lately I don't even know what to write about. I feel like crap today because I drank three beers last night, which was way too much for me. I'm such a lightweight now. There was a time when three beers would've been an appetizer for me. I was drinking like cases of beer back in the day. Well, I don't know if it was really cases, but it was a shit ton of beer, just sucking them down like fruit punch. But now, three beers gets me pretty loopy and feeling like ass the next day. I still went to counseling this morning, then work, then the gym where I did personal training and cardio, and now back to work again. So I'm not fucking up as far as my responsibilities go, but as far as my general well-being, I'm fucking up. It's just not worth it. It's not that fun. For instance, last night, HAM and I were watching the first episode of Mad Men, and int this episode, one of the guys tells his fiancee, "Of course I love you, I'm giving up my life to be with you, aren't I?" This made HAM laugh, so I jumped on him immediately and gave him a hard time the rest of the night for laughing at this guy's joke about marriage being a trade-in for your life. HAM knows I want to get married. Ever since we first met and he asked me what I wanted, I said I wanted to get married. He said he didn't believe in marriage, and he explained to me that he didn't need the government interfering in his personal life. I understand that. I don't need that, either, but I still want to be married. It doesn't have to be legally bound, that's really not the point for me. I just want the commitment. I want him to declare his undying love for me and make a promise to stay with me no matter what. I don't need the court document, I just need the personal statement during a ceremony where I get to wear a pretty dress and there are witnesses, like his mother. So for me, when he jokes about marriage being the end of his life, I take it seriously. I'm a good girl. I'm pretty, funny, smart, and I'm a great cook. I mean, I have my flaws like anyone, but as far as girls go, there's lots of guys who would feel lucky to have me, and I think HAM should want to marry me before someone else tries to steal me away. There's these two guys who work in the same office park as my counselor, and every time I walk by, they always stare at me. Today, they finally decided to say hello to me and I found out that they work for an engineering recruiting firm that allows them to travel to several different countries. They are both young men, fine looking, with careers, and I know they think I'm cute. Of course, I'm not interested in these guys, I love HAM and only want to be with HAM, but the point is, it's not like I'm some loser that no one else would want. I'm attractive to people. And once they finally talk to me, they discover that I'm not a bimbo, I'm actually interesting to talk to and funny and not at all stuck up. I'm someone that guys want to get to know. And HAM is young. He's only 24 and I'm 31, so I worry he's not ready to commit to me, and I could spend years with him waiting for him to want to get married, and in the end he decides he wants more experience or I'm not right for him, and he leaves me when my expiration date has long since passed. In a lot of people's eyes, my expiration date already passed since I'm over 30 (for some men, 25 is the cut off). It's not that I believe in these expiration dates - I think they're offensive - but they're a reality for a lot of people. Women's stock goes down as steadily as men's stock goes up. As men progress throughout their lives, working their way up corporate ladders or what have you, they continue to increase their value to the opposite sex, meanwhile, women get older and accumulate more fat, wrinkles, and gray hair, making them less and less valuable with every passing day. It is sad, but it is a fact that cannot be denied and it is true in almost every culture. Men are visual creatures and they desire beautiful women. It may not be all that matters, but the fact is, it does matter. HAM loves the way I look today. He loves my big butt and small waist, he loves my makeup and hair and he loves my tan and nails. I can keep up a lot of this stuff, but there is the inevitable aging process that will change the shape of my body, turn my hair gray, and produce fine lines and wrinkles on my face. I want him to love me enough to love me when I'm old. I want him to look at me and not just see a hot chick with a nice ass, but I beautiful woman who he wants to grow old with, who he loves so much that I would be beautiful to him no matter how many years have passed or how many gray hairs I have. I have been with people who have said they felt that way about me before, and I don't really know if it was true or not, but I know there are some men out there who truly love their middle-aged or elderly wives, and I think I deserve a man that loves me that much, too. A man who doesn't see my gray hair or wrinkles, but sees the real me and thinks I'm amazing, stunning, and the only girl he'd ever want. That's how I see him. I imagine him twenty years from now, HAM the man instead of HAM the baby. I see him being just as sexy, if not more so. I see him always being the guy I want to be with more than anyone else in the world, no matter if he develops a gut or stays in perfect shape. Whether he loses his pretty blonde hair or keeps it. I don't care, because I love him as a person, not as a good-looking person. I've never even been with a good-looking guy before I met him. All my boyfriends were toothless, fat, or bald. Or all three. I don't care about looks on a man. I care more about their sense of humor than anything else. I need someone who makes me laugh, and who thinks I'm funny, too. HAM does that, too. He thinks men are always funnier than women, as I've mentioned before, but he does think I'm funny, and I think he's funny, too. But I do have this fear that he'll only love me as long as I'm pretty, and one day if I'm not pretty enough, he'll either stay with me out of obligation but long for someone younger and more attractive, or he'll just leave me. Because when I met him I was physically perfect and since then I've gained like seven pounds. My stomach isn't perfectly flat anymore and I've had months of being pale instead of tan, or I've been too poor to afford to get my nails done so they grow out and look ratty for a while. I'm just afraid how I look is extremely important to him because I looked perfect when he met me and he's really into physical appearance. He loves Katy Perry and he was totally into the idea of my getting breast implants (which didn't pan out partly because of cost, and partly because I read all of the literature that they give you when you go in for a consultation and it scared the crap out of me). Katy Perry has those giant milky globes and I have just slightly more than a twelve-year-old. I often joke that I should shop in the training bra section. So I don't know, maybe I'm just insecure, as my counselor says. I know I'm insecure, but I don't think it's all in my head, I think HAM really has an aversion to unattractive women and wouldn't want me if I was fat or ugly. And I can control fat, and I'm not ugly, but I can't stop time. I will get old, I have no say in the matter. I just hope he'll fall more in love with me and see me as beautiful as I get older instead of just old. I know I have an expiration date, I just hope he'll still want to drink me once I've gone sour.

Today was good. I worked an extra hour than usual and I got my paycheck. I got my nails done for a pretty good price and I got dark green french tips. They look beautiful. But Thursday sucked. I've always wanted to be a nude model. Not a pornographic-style nude, but nude art - painting or photography, it's just something I've always wanted to do and do before I get too old. So I found a person on line who's local and his photographs are very artistic and beautiful. I emailed him about modeling and he said I could send some clothed photos of myself so he can see if he's interested. I mentioned all of this to HAM and he did what he always does when he's mad; nothing. He just turns silent and then I have to keep bugging him until he finally tells me what his problem is. This time, it was that he felt like I was doing something behind his back. Then he said that all those male photographers just want to sleep with their subjects.  He said, "You want some dude to take nude pictures of you?" as if I was going to some back alley motel so some dude with a camera could snap dirty pictures of me and sell them on a porn website. So we started fighting and the truth came out. It had little to do with nude modeling, and everything to do with the whole thing that recently happened with ALL. He hasn't said much about it since it happened, but it finally came out on thursday that he thinks about it frequently and it disgusts him and he doesn't know if he will ever forgive me. I tried to explain that my wanting to leave him for my abusive ex-fiance had much more to do with  medication that with my heart's desire. When I left ALL in February 2010, I knew I would NEVER be with him again. I wasn't attracted to him anymore and had no desire to try to fix his broken ass ever again. But then, a year later, I'm dealing with the worst insomnia of my life, as well as an awful binge-eating disorder. So first, I try every natural sleeping rememdy known to man and none of them work. Then I try Ambien, and it's like a miracle drug. The problem is, I don't actually have a prescription for it, I'm taking my Dad's Ambien (which he knew about - I wasn't stealing it from him). So I go to my doc and try to get a script for it since it's the only thing that works, and the doc tried about a zillion other sleep aids but refuses to give me Ambien. So I continue taking my Dad's supply, and start to become depressed. The binge eating gets worse, I'm having freaky nightmare almost every night, and still can only sleep for four hours at a time. So I get on anti-depressants and my initial reaction to them is anxiety, panic attacks, and worsening depression...but they stop the binge-eating, so I stick it out. Meanwhile, my ex gets a hold of me after we hadn't spoken in a long time, and he's telling me he loves me and would do anything for me, and I'm desperately trying to get HAM to say this to me. I want to know where the relationship is going and he keeps saying, "I can't predict the future." No "I love you and want to be with you forever," just, "I can't predict the future." So I get more wrapped up in ALL telling me what I want to hear, and even though I know I don't want to be with ALL, I feel attached to him because I want to hear, "I love you" from someone since I'm depressed, anxious, and crying nonstop every day. Then ALL disappears. His phone is disconnected, his Facebook page is deleted - he's just gone. And then I feel so alone, and HAM doesn't love me, and doesn't want to be with me, or isn't sure, and I start feeling desperate to get this attention from someone, so a month later when ALL reappears and says he still loves me and wants to be with me, I actually consider it. Then I confess all of this to HAM, he talks me out of going back to ALL, tells me he loves me and wants to marry me and have babies with me (one day) and then I feel hurt. I feel like, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me any of this before?" And I'd spent so much time talking myself out of loving him or imagining a future with him, that it became difficult for me to just change my mind. But I finally did change my mind. I adjusted to the antidepressants and got off Ambien FOREVER (thank god), but in the process, I hurt ALL, I hurt HAM, and I hurt myself. HAM and I fell madly in love, I cut ALL completely out of the picture, and everything was bliss and fun and love until thursday, when I found out that it wasn't all bliss and fun and love. There is still pain and uncertainty for HAM, and I don't blame him at all. So I spent the whole day crying and feeling like shit about what I terrible person I have been. But, to my credit, I have spent every day since HAM and I committed to eachother trying to be the best girlffriend I can be. I cook, I clean, I wear lingerie, I got my nails done with french tips (his favorite), I give him rides and pick him up whenever I can, I brought him lunch today, we have sex pretty much daily, and I spend as much time with him as I can. But apparently, all of that doesn't compare to being betrayed. And some of the things I said to him were so hurtful and I'm so embarrassed, but I swear it was the Ambien making me crazy! But even if it was the Ambien, the words were still hurtful, my actions were still hurtful, and I can't take any of it back. It happened and now I have to live with the consequences, which could end up meaning that I lose the man I love and hope to be with forever.  I hope he decides to forgive me and forget that part of our past, but if he doesn't, I have to somehow accept that and move on. God, I'm such a douchebag sometimes. In honor of my douchbaggedness, here is one of my favorite songs:

Since Amy Winehouse was found dead in her apartment, everyone's been talking about the age 27. So many artists have died at age 27, and everyone is asking, "What is the significance of this number?" Of course, we all know that Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix died at age 27, but there are others, too. They call it the 27 Club. A complete list of all the musicians who died at 27 is available on Wikipedia. It makes me think of my 27th year. It was the worst of my drug and alcohol addiction. I lived in this brokedown palace on Highway 20 in Nice, California. The house was this huge, dilapidated shithole covered in chipped white paint. The owners of the house split it into two apartments, one with store frontage facing the highway. The guy who lived in the front apartment owned an antique shop. He was pretty much a jerk, but we didn't talk to him much. RC (my husband at the time) and I lived in the apartment around back. It was two stories. Upstairs had a master bedroom, two bathrooms, a living room and kitchen. In the summer, the upstairs would get so hot that I could barely stand to cook anything in that kitchen because it was like cooking inside a sauna. The downstairs was somehow dug out after the house was built, so the ceiling was very low. It had a living room, a weird bedroom in the back, and a full bathroom. This was also where the entry to the house was located. Another door was upstairs, but it was off the side of the deck and wasn't a good place to enter the house. RC and I spent most of our time in the downstairs area because it was warmer in winter and cooler in summer. RC was gone a lot, though, because it was a two hour drive from our house to the mountain where he was growing weed. I went with him sometimes, and I had a job trimming buds for some people up there that paid $20/ hour. But most of the time, I'd stay home with the dogs, or at least one of the dogs. I'd mess around on the internet for hours, with the TV on as background noise. I'd sit there, smoke weed, drink wine or beer, sometimes scotch neat. I got a prescription for Vicodin, so I'd pop them like candy while drinking and smoking. Sometimes, I would feel my heart squeezing like it was going to explode, but I never told anyone. This was also when Amy Winehouse's second album came out, the album that projected her to stardom. I used to make these videos of myself singing songs to karaoke music and post them on YouTube. I was drunk when I did Amy Winehouse's song, "You Know I'm No Good". I got a lot of negative feedback on that one, which, at the time, hurt my feelings, but looking back at it later, it's obvious why people didn't like it - I was wasted. I guess I thought that there was no other way to sing Amy Winehouse - she was always wasted, so I should be too. I fell in love with both of her albums. My friend told me there was this cool song out called, "Rehab", so I checked it out, and she was right - it was brilliant. I promptly downloaded everything Amy Winehouse had ever recorded and began listening to her albums on repeat. But at the same time, I was dying. I had been overweight a few months earlier, but I decided that alcohol had far too many calories for me to continue eating food, so I gave it up, except for the occasional fifty calorie hamburger bun. RC would ask, "What are gonna have for dinner tonight?" And I would reply, "Well, I don't know what you're having, but I'm having wine." I lost 20 pounds in a month or two on the PAW diet. That's pills, alcohol, and weed. I started an internet affair with my husband's friend. He contacted me on MySpace and after that, we started talking on the phone when my husband was on the mountain and his wife was at work. I began drinking scotch first thing in the morning, so when he called me, I'd be more relaxed. I felt so guilty for having this long-distance affair that I had to drink in order to go through with it. I couldn't work anymore. I was unemployable. I was writing a little, but it was mostly self-loathing ramblings - nothing productive or interesting. At night I would get so paranoid that I was sure some tweaker would break into the house and rape me. I couldn't clean, I couldn't pay any bills. I could hardly bathe myself or brush my teeth. I would go three days without a shower some times, even though I had one in the next room. Many nights I spent sobbing uncontrollably, believing that I was going insane. I still remember one time I had smoked a ton of weed, drank a few glasses of wine, and took two Trazadone. I stood up and immediately collapsed on face forward. I had my head hard on the ground, and even as messed up as I was, I thought, this is NOT okay. My life was definitely unmanageable and I had lost all control my actions. I determined my problem to be sex addiction. That was the only possible explanation for my behavior. Why else would I have an affair? (Even thought I was also on Prozac during all of this so I couldn't have an orgasm. I'd always fake it when I was on the phone with RC's friend.) I called the community clinic one day to make an appointment with a counselor. When I went for the appointment, the counselor told me that I couldn't afford to see him, but it sounded like I needed AA more than SA. He gave me a list of local meetings, and I went to one that afternoon. This begins a new chapter in my life, and there's much more to this story than just going to a meeting, but I did choose sobriety. I think maybe age 27 is so poignant in a person's life because it's sort of a change over from childhood to adulthood. People who spent most of their lives medicating with drugs and alcohol realize at this point that it's either going to be a lifelong problem or they're going to have to grow up. If you've been getting high since you were thirteen and you're still doing it at 27, chances are it's not a party anymore. It's not a casual thing to do once in a while with friends, it's a daily, lonely nightmare and it seems like you'll never wake up. For whatever reason, I was one of the lucky ones who managed to get out alive, but so many people, like Amy Winehouse, never wake up.