So it looks like we are both missing the sames things, namely eachother. Though somehow I know that the answer really isn’t that simple.

Of all the problems I have dealt with this isn’t the worst. I guess having a broken heart just complicates everything.

Sometimes I realize just how fucked up and distorted my body image is. I was in a store grabbing clothes, because I’ve realized just how old most of the things I own are. So I was grabbing size 6 and size 8, because they looked right. They were huge. Come to find out, I am a size 0. Not even a 2, a 0. I know most of that is to do with the fact that I am petite, not skinny. It is still amazing that I can feel so huge and unhappy all the time. Its almost disgusting. Maybe I just need someione to tell me I’m beautiful but I can’t wait around for someone to say it, let alone think it. So now, for this moment, I am going to tell myself.

I feel kind of beautiful.

The light is creeping in the right side of my grandfather’s window and for the moment all of New York City is glowing orange. I forgot how beautiful the view from his apartment really is. I am nestled here in Manhattan trying desperately to deal with his insanity. He told me three times that my towel is the one on the left. He has piles everywhere of documents. He wants to talk about my mother. It is going to be a long couple of days, but I am really happy to be seeing him.

I am such a creep.

So the other day I was right near my house on my way home, when I noticed this girl on the street who was ridiculously my type. Tall, short brown hair, kind of artsy.
So I just went grocery shopping, and I was looking at my groceries trying to sort them out when I hear a girl say “hello”
So I look up and my cashier is the cute girl. So, as I am a complete fool, I say
“Oh, its you! I saw you walking the other day.”

God I am so creepy sometimes.

Her name is Becca. Part of me wants an excuse to grocery shop again and part of me wants to never go back there.

Merg merg merg.

I am such a girl.

It’s really kind of nauseating. I promised myself I would not do this, never again. I didn’t even need to promise; I was so convinced that I could not possibly care. So much about this is wrong. Suddenly eveything I say-or write- means something. Suddenly I can’t seem to stop talking.

I just need to get out of here and take some time to myself, to breathe in. To stare at the lights of New York City (It has been far too long). To stop thinking about you.

Last night was quite eventful. I am at home, alone, left to deal with all these mixed emotions. Part of me wants to see you, and part of me wants to disappear completely. I have a history of doing the latter. I have a history of finding myself in a lot of trouble.

I guess I saw this all coming. I’m smart enough to know how these things eventually end.

I am just going to try and enjoy myself for the time being and not worry. Then again, its not worrying that’s my problem, its just thinking in general. I have to go to sleep now, it should be an interesting challenge.