I'll be 36 on Monday. 36 and I'm still acting like I did when I was 26. In fact, 26 was in a lot of ways, too old to be such a drunk.

I guess you need to hit rock bottom before you will deal with an addiction. That's what they say anyway. I may have been close seven years ago. I hope I was close because if it's a lot further down than that, I certainly don't want to hit it.

Seven years ago, my mental disorder was probably at its worst. It's not one that typically causes psychotic episodes, but with the right stressors, it can. I heard of erotomania from a crime show (Criminal Minds, I think). When I read into it, it seems like exactly what I was dealing with at the time. But I shouldn't really say that. A person can't diagnose themselves, even if they're a professional, and I am not qualified to diagnose anyone.

Here we are, seven years later. I'm actually really happy with my life. Which is something I've never really been able to honestly say. It's not perfect. I have bad moods. Work stresses me out sometimes. But I have a wonderful relationship. We have a house and critters. I have a decent enough job, especially considering my history and qualifications.