I hated the way I felt. The frustration toward myself felt as though it was mounting with every second.
I should have been used to the situation so it shouldn't have been so upsetting, but I just couldn't help it. Not only did I feel justified in all the paranoia I had felt, and a frustration toward those who had dismissed me, but just a looming dread that living in a state of fear and paranoia would be all I would ever know.
Was this really what my life was going to be? It certainly felt like it.
Roman and I spent the day together, and I was grateful for his company. I just wasn't in the mood to talk.
What was there to say that we haven't talked about a million times before? We would have the same conversations we had a hundred times before, comfort each other in the same ways, and resume the cuddling we were already doing.
