What a waste of 5 months.

This hurts more than anything. I've never been this miserable after a break up.

I loved him. I still love him. And I know he loved me. I just, I don't understand. I had absolutely no clue that things were going south. Not really.

I mean, sure we fought. But, always over stupid things. Stupid things that I got my feelings hurt over, because he was mad about something. I made no secret about my shortcomings, and I never kept anything from him. I just, I couldn't make him happy, and I suppose he was tired of my trying.

But, you know? I thought he was it, man. Like, really it. I thought he was going to be the guy I spent the rest of my life with. I loved him. Every little thing, I loved. And, those fights? Mere bruises on the surface of something I thought was the most amazing and beautiful thing in the world. If you have 10,000 wonderful moments, and a handful of bad ones, which side wins? The good or the bad?

And, in my mind, any issues we had were so fucking negligible in comparison with my issues with Jesse. I mean, come on. Sure, I cried. I'm sure anyone else would've cried when she gets yelled for being in the kitchen, or told that she's GOING to cheat on him with his friend. I don't think that it's a terrible thing for me to cry in those situations.

And I know I need counseling to get over my paranoia and thin skin. I'm working on it, I am, and he knew it.

And I know that whatever problems he sees in us, are completely fixable. It's literally a problem of communication. He doesn't tell me when he's angry, and I do something wrong. But, I don't know what I'm doing wrong unless someone tells me. I am not a mind reader! I think we're both too sensitive. He overreacts to innocuous comments I make, and takes them the wrong way. I say "I'm going to cook dinner for my man", and he thinks it means that he can't take care of himself, and he's this boar of a man, making me cook dinner. Which, is completely off base. I understand he gets pissy when I wash the dishes, but goddamnit, I just like to keep myself busy. When I'm cooking, I'm not just standing there staring at the food, but I can't exactly walk away, either. So, dishes. And I have been making an effort to not clean, because he dislikes it so.

And the smoking thing. He started smoking, like, two months into the relationship. Whatever, I'm not happy, but please don't smoke around me since I am allergic to the smoke. And, he started smoking around me. So, I would step away, or roll down the window. And he got pissy, said I was being passive aggressive about it. My options were to leave him all together, or make sacrifices. I chose to make sacrifices, but I wasn't going to sacrifice my ability to breathe. I don't understand how he can justify getting mad about that. I never bitched at him about it. I supported his decision, and encouraged him when he decided to try to quit again. When he failed, I didn't say anything about it. I figure he could always try again.

In the end, it wasn't enough. Nothing I did was enough. Maybe I wasn't funny enough, or able enough, or thin enough, or cute enough, or perfect enough. Maybe I wasn't a good enough cook, or good enough in bed. I just don't know. And that kills me.

Hey.

In case you were wondering...

Yeah, I'm stoked with life.

I start back at work tomorrow, after six weeks off. Should really wait another 2-4 weeks, but I can't afford it.

This means I get to spend more time with Ted, and Shawna. Obviously, this rules.

I'm not really excited about the actual working thing. I really hate that place sometimes. It's just so stressful. But, I figure that I can always drink my stress away.

PS - Best Halloween ever.

I want to be better now. It's going to be a long, lonely while before I can go out again. I already miss all my friends and Ted.

I'm going to go elevate my foot, eat something, and watch Grosse Pointe Blank. Maybe Watchmen, too.

Sometimes, I really dislike my mother. I mean, she really doesn't give a shit about how I feel regarding certain subjects.

She told me the other day that I should go on a diet before my surgery, because losing weight would make me heal faster. Wrong.

She told me again today that I shouldn't eat so much, because it's OBVIOUSLY affecting my joints. Anyone that spends much time with me knows I really don't eat that much. Jesus, I make Ted finish most of my meals with him, because I can't! Unless it's sushi. I pretty much inhale that shit.

She says to me, "If you actually went on a diet, you wouldn't be so short of breath all the time." I'm short of breath, because I haven't been going to the gym. I haven't been going to the gym, because I hurt like hell. And, to be perfectly honest, my breathing isn't labored because I'm walking too much, it's because, surprise, I fucking hurt! Also, when the hell have I been short of breath, except when I walk up stairs?

I've given her countless books, and statistics, and links and she cannot be convinced that maybe some people are just supposed to be fat, like some people are supposed to be tall. When I say this to her, she says "DO YOU HONESTLY THINK SOME PEOPLE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE 600 POUNDS, LAURA?!?!!" Well, that's a little extreme, and likely caused by a medical issue. "SO YOU'RE CLAIMING YOU HAVE A GLANDULAR PROBLEM?!!?!" No, wtf? I'm saying if I eat healthy foods, and exercise when I can, and I don't lose weight, maybe I'm supposed to be fat. "WHY ARE YOU GIVING UP?!!? IT"S LIKE YOU WANT TO DIE EARLY!!!" What the hell is wrong with you? Some people are black, some are tall, some are fat, some are stupid, what fucking difference does it make to YOU? If you're healthy and active, why do I also need to be skinny?

My knees and ankle and hip are going to hurt like hell regardless of whether or not I cut my food intake down to 750 calories a day. So then I'll be 3 times as miserable as before. Hungry AND in pain. That makes a lot of fucking sense. She says, "I don't hurt nearly as badly now that I lost weight, Laura!" That MIGHT have more to do with the two titanium knees you had yours replaced with two years ago, rather than the weight loss. Wild guess.

Chubby, corpulent, fleshy, obese, overweight, plump, portly, pudgy, roly-poly, rotund, tubby, bulky, chunky, heavy, heavyset, thick, thickset, paunchy, potbellied, flabby, soft, buxom, zaftig, etc. I am all of these things. I'm also funny, smart, nerdy, crippled, loving, giving, friendly, quick to anger, generous, healthy, Polish, Hungarian, German, Danish, Austrian, and generally a good person. Being fat doesn't negate those things.

So I met a boy, right?

He's perfect. You should all be pretty jealous.

Yeah, I still have my insecurities, but none about him. I still get kind of depressed when I think about my disabilities, but he's been amazing about it all. Completely understanding, more than anyone has ever been. And yeah, I'm including friends and family in that list.

He likes touching me! And not just my boobs! Do any of you realize how absolutely huge that is for me? He fell asleep the other night caressing my butt. He nuzzles my belly. He squeezes my thighs. It's pretty much amazing. My self-esteem? Sky-rockets every time I'm with him. Even when I'm a little down about being crippled, he knows just what to say to make me feel better.

I can't wait to see him again Tuesday. I'm making him dinner, while we work on his derby car together.

Obviously, I'm the perfect girlfriend as much as he's the perfect boyfriend.

For those of you who do not read Livejournal...

I love life.

But it would be pretty nice if I had a little bit more money.

Ouch.

I think it's fairly obvious that I have lost my damn mind.

Also, I get WAY too excited about faces when I'm driving. WAY.

I think I almost killed myself a dozen times last night while on the phone with Rob. I would scream FACE and punch a button every time I passed somebody. I suppose it's a good thing he knows I'm completely batshit.

In my favor: The ADHD makes for never a dull moment when I am entertained.

I bet I could keep that guy from Starbucks entertained!! I won't make another attempt, though. I bet he doesn't like fatties. Shame, really. Everyone knows that the chubettes are the best in, and out, of bed.

PS - Figures that it's a nice, clear blue day and it's goddamn freezing out. What a stupid goddamn month, March. I mean, really epically stupid.

PS#2 - I still really, really, REALLY want this cutting board. Ok. You have no IDEA how badly I want it. If I had the money, I would buy it. I don't, so someone please buy it for me. PLEASE?!

Please want.

125, bitches.

So. Uh, weird month, my friends. A weird, weird month. I mean, really effing bizarre, OK? Have I managed to get that point across to you? Because, holy shit.

Recap?

Eh, hell, I'm not going to recap it. Not really. Suffice it to say that the first half of the month was spent hanging out with some old friends, sometimes accidentally. The second half, getting back in touch with an old ex. We did not have an amicable breakup, but I can't remember what happened for the life of me.

Well. OK. That's a lie. I have a fairly good idea of what happened, but it's because of my superior deductive reasoning skills, and several people filling me in on the details as they saw them. Yeah. I don't feel great about it.

Why is it that the guys that had every right in the world to smash my face in never do? And the other guys beat the hell out of me for smiling, or eating too much, or some other stupid reason? I really don't get it.

Actually, I think that is what is causing me the most confusion right now.

He keeps telling me to quit spazzing out over what happened immediately after the break up, but I can't. The Guilt, I has it. I'll get past it, but I don't want to just brush it off. Does that make sense? No. It probably doesn't.

Oh, goodness, I need Adderall. Or something very much like it.

PS - I'm getting a breast reduction. Also, a new puppy. WIN.

So I kind of hate myself tonight.

It's real exciting.

I'm obviously the greatest, most compassionate person on the face of the fucking planet.

I should be punched in the neck. That's what I think.

And, I miss Astro. So, so much. I miss my best friend. I want my chubby puppy back.

I hate crying. So fucking much.

In other, less depressing news, I went to a Pure Romance party, and won free Ben Wa balls because I deep throated the hell out of a Chiquita Banana.

That shit was bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.