So I thought I had finally achieved a solitary living arrangement for good. I still have some ties to my ex Michael, but not the house.
Well apparently, he's getting kicked out if his place in Winfield. And guess who he asks to live with.
Yeah. Me.
On the one hand, if he comes back, Morris will chew me the fuck out and raise my rent 300 bucks. Since he has no real steady and reliable income, I'd have to support him until he has enough money saved up.
On the other hand, if I say no, he will end up homeless, penniless, or possibly dead.
I still said no. I have my reasons, which most of my friends know about all too well.
Well, when he laid this on me, all those things ran through my head relentlessly. I started stressing out hardfuckingcore and ended up vomiting. I haven't vomited in 4 weeks. I came back to my terminal and almost immediately ended up having an anxiety attack at my desk. It got so bad, I had to leave work and sit in Boyfriend Michael's car. During a storm. Again.
Speak of him, he really came through for me that night. He was my support system, caring boyfriend, and thunder buddy.
That was the moment I realized he really *isn't* going anywhere.
Tonight I realized my friends have been right for years: I really do deserve to be happy.
ANNNNNND...
I get to celebrate a whole month sober today.
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