“Things could be worse . . .

. . . Suppose your errors were counted and published every day, like those of a baseball player.”

I'm not going to make this into something it's not, but I still have every right to be angry.

I think if I were to dwell on things too much, I might lose the ability to trust altogether. Yes, it's like that. I just did not expect to be blindsided -- a little bit of a warning flag would have been nice.

I know exactly what I want. I know the kind of person I want to be with, the kind of life I want to have, the type of relationship I want to grow old in. I'd be lying to myself if I said anything I've come across this far even slightly fills that criteria, yet I let myself get so wrapped up in maybes, and possibilities, that it still hurts when you're left alone to wonder and, eventually, deal with the inevitable reality of being left alone.

I feel sick to my stomach with resentment. Someone help -- I do not want to be that person.