It was the accumulation of the week or so. I think. That finally did me in.

I've said for quite a while that I'd be an alcoholic under normal circumstances...normal, meaning if I could get myself to drink on a regular basis, on a near constant basis...all the time. I couldn't. Oh, trust me, I tried.

Well, I think I've found the trick. Perseverance.

It was a funny week.

When my boss asked me if my personal issues would affect my work...I replied, "Man, you don't even know. These are the dregs. The dregs. Of what I've been through." Or I said something like that...maybe I left out the "man."

It was a painful week.

I felt totally useless and totally alone. Inane in the membrane. I couldn't think. I couldn't function. I thought, perhaps I'd lost my groove. And my name isn't even Stella.

There were people who tried to befriend me. Who tried to gain my trust, who were incredibly kind, at moments. And I never hoped in such people, because G-d knows they'll betray you when you really begin to count on them. And it was true, in a way. I counted a bit, saw them not there, and stopped counting. Right now I can't count period. My head's a little too dizzy.

And so I decided to just down things, whatever. When I was in Paris, I had bottles upon bottles of wine in my attempts to fluidize the pain. I went domestic on myself and cooked myself whole meals. I also gained a helluva lot of weight in the process and probably killed dozens of brain cells. In the end I was able to normalize a bit.

Was that the best way? Who the hell cares.

I continuously wonder if it'd be better if I left the country. I've done it before--was I running away from things? Almost surely. And I learned that you cannot run from things, but you can restart, in a way. Find yourself, by testing yourself.

Perhaps I need to test myself in another way, I need to get out of this place and find a new comfort zone. This one hurts too much.

People tell me, "Oh, you can always talk to me, you can always trust me." If we were playing cards, I'd say "Bull shit."

Bull shit.

Anyway, I've gone from Cabernet to Merlot. That guy from "Sideways" would be disappointed. He'd probably cuss me out. Well, bring it.

I think a fight would do me good. Perhaps I'd get all bloodied up, maybe vomit up fear and waves of nausea. Then perhaps I'd feel better.

I don't know what I want. I do know that seeing Jack last weekend disturbed me more than I let on. Than I let him on. Than I let myself on...most of all. I don't know what I want.

There were many times when we were talking that I thought to myself--is he breaking up with me?--but then again, one, we're not dating...two, what does any of it mean anyway?

Damn the ongoing sagas and the constant dramas.

"Everybody needs someone," Adrian said, the other night at dinner. "Well, I need someone--Nicole," he corrected, with a small smile, looking over at his lovely girlfriend.

I'll always envy the people who have someone they trust and rely on with their whole hearts. I wonder if I ever will. I truly do.

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