I got dumped.

Hah, we weren’t even officially together or doing anything more than seeing where things would go, yet? I still got thrown away, even though the events that led up to me being tossed weren’t even my doing. Seems I’d rather roll over and play dead than have to fight for my own integrity or myself in general.

Funny how they always seem to be the ones that set the ball of demise in motion, and I’m the one who always ends up at the end of the day bearing the weight of the fault.

I was told I was a STD ridden skank, an ice cold bitch, and an impenetrable force. When I called someone who knew me in a similar way to ask their opinion on the matter, I got egocentric thrown into the mix.

Hah. Egocentric. I never saw myself that way, but maybe I am.

Their loss, right? Yea, I know. Isn’t that the standard line of consoling because there’s really nothing else that can be said other than “What an asshole, it’s his loss”? Maybe it is their loss. I was fantastic to the ex, and I can say that without even blinking an eye. But that’s why things lasted so long with him, and that’s why things went so wrong with him: I was so emotionally invested I couldn’t ever hurt him, even if it meant nailing myself further to the proverbial cross with each passing day.

Strange how when I actually make the decision to be more open, to allow myself to like them, and to take a few steps out into the water, they suddenly wake up from whatever dream it was they were in that had them thinking I was something worth exploring, and they look at me with clear eyes and see me. Or see that I’m not what they thought I was, or expected me to be.

Their loss…maybe so, but certainly it always seems to be mine.

I can’t keep falling from grace and getting back up again. I can’t let myself build a higher wall, because the one I have now is insurmountable to most. I can’t keep losing pieces of my heart, because it’s becoming almost impossible to breath.

Something has to change, because apparently what I am and what I’m doing now just isn’t working.

I could be painfully me, but having my shit together, being laid back, easy going, impossible to offend, and funny just don’t seem to cut it in the end. I could be exactly what they want, but eventually the charade would come to an end. I could change everything about myself, but people don’t change and that’s a lot of effort to put into an endeavor that most likely will fail.

Well, if I can’t seem to ensnare them with my charming personality, then it seems I’ll have to go about things that good old fashioned way: rely on my looks alone.

Fucked again.

I see the way they look at girls. I see how they’re eyes always seem to stick to the skinny girls. It seems it doesn’t matter what you look like, as long as you’re skinny and petite you’re hot, hot, hot. That’s fine. I’m no stranger to the supposed pressures to be thin. I hear it from every corner of my life, and the pressure screams at me to get myself on a treadmill every fucking time I go out.

So, I can either starve myself, or go absolutely insane with working out. Both I’ve done, but apparently not to a satisfactory end, because I’m still not a skinny bitch. But then there’s that whole issue of the fact I can’t ever be as tiny as them.

Hah. Fantastic.

There’s always plastic surgery, though, and I’ve had that offered to me on a silver platter a number of times. Ahhh yes, happiness is ten pounds of fat being sucked out of your gut. It seems Peanuts had it all wrong by thinking it was ice cream and finding a skate key.

So that’s the solution to loneliness. Become a size two. Sure, the asshole may not like you for who you are, but I’m at the point where I just don’t give a fuck anymore.

Liking me for something is a far better alternative than never liking me at all.

The winds of change are stirring, and for better or for worse I'm all-in.