Healthier.

After my week in the city, I'm healthier.
After the bullshit that happened last night, I'm fucked-er.

Over the six days I was in NYC, I made a really great, tight-knit group of friends. One night, I was really drunk, and as I sobered up, one of my friends sat with me and talked with me and listened to me cry. I told her my life story, I told her about the eating disorders and the insecurities and the fucking people and how I hate people.
And she listened. And she hugged me. And we decided that sometimes, "It's okay to not be okay." And sometimes you need people who understand that.

And then things got fucked up at the theatre festival in Massachusetts. I don't even feel like going into that now. Or ever.

And last night, I saw this guy in my building. A guy I think is really nice and cute. Who pinky-promised me (however drunkenly) that he would dance with me at a party during spring term.
I said hi to him. Called him by name. Smiled. I've been told I have a beautiful smile. I won "Best Smile" as a superlative in high school.
He said "Hey." No smile.
The fucker still doesn't know my name, even though I've introduced myself about three times.


I'm too fat to be noticed.
I need to be so skinny that I am noticed.