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:: Saturday, August 16, 2003 ::

I should really stop writing about my happiness. It decreases readership and inevitably invites fate to fuck me in the ass.

So, yeah. Evidently it isn't enough, everything I do. And I do a lot.

I vowed that I would learn to love my body after Jon and his stupid fucking your-hand-is-bigger-than-mine-so-I'm-dumping-you thing that fucked my head up for a very long time. I prayed feverently that there was someone out there that could appreciate my body for what it is - not model material, but nonetheless beautiful in it's own right.

So, there was a long talk, yes. We're still together, though he brought up the 'so do you not want to see me anymore' question and didn't exactly seem heartbroken. There were legitimate, sounds-good-on-paper reasons for every stab I've taken to the heart tonight. I don't fucking care right about now. I wept myself sick all the way home. Maybe this horrible stomach-twisting depression will abate in the morning, but I doubt it. My ego is nonexistent right now. All my mirrors are covered up again...I can't deal with this. I was finally getting back to appreciating myself and it's gone. Ruined. I let something stupid get inside where it had no business and now I've wrecked myself.

Why can't I just be myself, and find someone who wants me for that? Why is every shot at happiness some kind of intricate dance through a minefield? Why do stupid little things bother me so much? He cares about me, he wants to be with someone when he's older who is in good shape too. He wants my health problems to get better...he's only trying to help.

So why does it hurt so bad?

~Fox
:: Fox 8/16/2003 02:27:00 AM [Say what?] ::
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