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11:19 p.m. - 2013-10-11
My daughter is the only kid in her first grade class reading chapter books.

My micro teacher spent the entire class going over our last exam question by question because people almost universally did terribly on it. I got 100.

My clinical instructor was "absolutely deeply moved" by my first clinical reflection short essay.

All I can think about is that M doesn't want me anymore. It's like none of that matters -- nothing matters -- nothing erases that fact that the person I loved best in the world doesn't want to be around me. Before he started cheating on me, I always thought he was the nicest person I'd ever known -- I wondered if he was human or angel sometimes. "Matthew" means "gift of God," and that's what he was.

It breaks my heart that he thinks I'm a horrible person. It makes me hate myself. He was my best friend. His love made me feel like a wantable, worthy person. I never had before I knew him, and when he changed his mind he took my sense of worth with him.

It would be so much easier if he was an asshole -- an assole who treated everyone like crap. He's not an asshole, though; he's sweet and courteous and giving and forgiving and loving and thoughtful and kind to everyone on the planet ... except me.

I hate that. I don't hate him for it. I hate me for it because I want him to love me. I hate being the person he doesn't love.

I lost so fucking much when I lost him. It's indescribable, unquantifiable.



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