But yet it does.

Nothing changes because I still screw up relationships and I’m still fat.

A lot changes because Dave is dead.

Back to the first one because I can’t handle the second one.

I am so so so so fucking sick and tired of screwing up. Why do I have this ideal of what I want in a relationship–respect. He makes my lunch, he cooks, he cleans, he does laundry, he plays games with me, he has fun. He drinks, he’s mildly chauvenistic, he doesn’t think there is anything wrong with ignoring calls or texts, with swearing at me, with losing his temper. My fault. I’m too emotional, I care too much.

 I just want to be “normal.” I want to be like everyone else. Not like me.