I broke up with Sam last night.

I have a date tonight.

I'm a terrible fucking person, trust me, I've wrestled with this in my head enough. It's not like I broke up wtih one for the other. It's not even like I planned to break up wtih him; I told him what I was mad about. His response was "All of the things you're mad about are completely legitimate. I just can't be the guy that you deserve right now. I just don't have it in me."

I said, "Well, I think we need to take a break until you do have it in you."

And I just had a conversation with someone I didn't want to have at all at all, and he didn't say what I wanted to hear (this is not romantically related at all.)

And I walked all the way home and it was so hot and I found myself scratching myself desperately, and now my neck and my stoumach and arms and back are covered in red strips, and I don't know why I did it and I feel so disgusted for drinking a non-diet calorie filled soda and I don't look good in this top but I have nothing to wear because I've already brought so much of it home and all I can think about is how I could just scratch all these extra pounds off my stoumach. And I have to eat because he wants to take me out to dinner, but at least it's sushi. And he's so fucking tall and so fucking incredibly built it's obviously really important to him that I'm skinny too. But good Lord, why am I lying to myself? I'd probably eat worse if I stayed home by myself. And of course I haven't been to the gym since fucking exams started, and part of it is that I don't have time but I'm sure part of it is that I'm fucking lazy. But why am I worrying so much? He's not going to be interested. I'm not interesting when I'm not drinking, and he hasn't talked to me in person since we met — and I was drunk then. Yeah he's nice enough, he didn't try anything even though he walked me home and then he made plans to go out with me tonight despite the fact that he has to tutor someone as soon as the date is over, so at least he's not another jerk just trying to take me home. But why am I giving him this much credit? I shouldn't. I trust too easy. He's fucking 23. I don't know how things work in the grown up world. And why am I worrying so much? It doesn't fucking matter because he's not going to want a second date with a girl who's afraid to eat and shows up with giant scratch marks all over her neck and chest that she put there herself because she can't deal with stress like a normal person. And the fact that when he asked me out and I said yes I still had a boyfriend, who I've been dating for two years. Yeah, I knew it was going to end but that doesn't make it okay I think. I wanted him to just wait a week, but then it clicked that I don't have a week — I'm going home on Friday and he's staying here. And I get that home for me is still pretty close to college, but soon after that and I don't even know fucking when but I'll be moving for the summer to the beautiful North Carolina beaches where I won't be able to eat at all because all I'll see is my past mistake who's now married and a bunch of beautiful young college students in their bathing suits. And why would he want to do something distance with a nuerotic girl who'd rather harm herself and not eat than cry? I don't cry I can't cry.

fuck. I hate first dates.

Wish me luck.