Good Morning America has a Series Called "Living the Dream"

     A month later, maybe more, and so here I am.  I'm still not on meds; and I haven't been back to see the doctor nor the social worker.  I am working at a new dealership.  It's really quite terrible.  The store I'm at now does everything in a way that's a little skewed.  I am having a lot of trouble adjusting here.  

     Yesterday was my second anniversary, and everything was going well.  I had a decent day at work, as good as it could have been.  DaVinci and I saw a movie, then went to my mom's house.  There we had cheesecake and champagne to celebrate.  So there I am, fat, drinking and being pressured to "have another slice.  It's so good.  Anniversary cheesecake doesn't have any calories."  NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!  What part of I FEEL FAT AND UGLY do you not understand?  Not to mention, I'm tired, because it's 11 at night and I have to be at work at 7 in the morning, and I get a little pissy. 
     Then my allergies kick in, like every evening.  They have been progressively getting worse as the days pass.  It might be the new spring season; it might be the lack of cleaning and all the dogs around.  Even my legs were itching, but I think that was a flea stuck in my sock, because I had several places that were itching all on one foot.  So I complain to DaVinci that my legs itch and my eyes are drying out.  He tells me that I should wear my glasses.  He then proceeds to imply that I'm making up the itchy legs, because he feels nothing.  I say I think it's a flea, and he says maybe my shoes are too tight.  So, wearing my shoes all day, and not having to re-tie them suddenly makes them tighter and causes my right foot to itch in three specific places?  Huh, the miracles of the human body, right?  So I say again, that's it's a flea and think it was stuck in my shoe or something.  And again, I must be making it up.
     Due to the whole "I'm not crazy, I'm just tired, itchy, and my allergies are making it difficult for me to function" thing, I was not getting any support from DaVinci.  All I wanted was a chance to vent.  And everything I said or felt, according to him, was either wrong or my fault.  I don't care about who's at fault.  I don't care if it's my shoes too tight or a flea.  I don't care that my eyes were drying out, and that I should know better by now and bring my glasses with me everywhere.  I just wanted him to say, "Gee, I'm sorry you feel that way."  I wasn't even looking for "Is there anything I can do to help?"  I just wanted to say how I felt, not asking for help or answers or a solution.  And I certainly didn't want to hear that it's my fault. 
     So, there I was, uncomfortable and then made to feel even worse.  And then I did what every girl wants to do for her second anniversary, I cried myself to sleep, alone in my bed.