I don't know why I feel so low, or rather I know only too well. But I really do fight it. To break it down is fighting it. I don't mean to drag you into my pit of doom. I do sometimes need a hand up from it.

At least I’ve stopped bursting into tears about it, at least I’m getting to feel more angry and righteous and strong and in charge of things. My stomach still hurts, and I still feel pretty dreadful, but I’m better, much more removed, and very grateful.

I am doubly furious and disgusted now. I can’t stand to think about you or us or what just happened. I can’t believe you’re just going to go out to your party like that’s important to you.

God how I wish I could talk to you sometimes.

I hate the way things are now, I hate the way we act about each other. I just can’t stand it. It’s so horrible and stiff and fake, and I’m so full of resentment and anger and I can’t tell if it belongs to you or if I just put it there.