I shouldn’t have rejoiced so quickly and proclaimed myself healed over the grey-sock realization.
Coming home to spend the night in my empty apartment has been harder than I imagined. I was feeling better in my childhood home; it served as an escape from reality.
I am so goddamn angry and sad all at once, and keep reaching for my phone to message Mr. B. I stop myself every time. There is nothing he can say that can change what he did. He ruined it.
Reaching out to him at this point for further clarification on how I just didn’t quite measure up in his books will just leave me back on my bathroom floor.
Because the truth is, there are moments I miss Mr. B so much I can’t breathe.