I'm back from the library, eating the leftover hot dogs that H made for the kids.
I started to cry, hard, on the way home. Not sure what brought it on; I wasn't focused on the sitch at the moment (can you believe it?). But I suddenly had this overwhelming sense:
H is never going to love me again.
Don't know where that came from. Maybe it was the "D for kids" books I was pre-reading at the library. They ranged from yeah, it sucks and you'll get over it, to a photo (in a kid's book) of a preteen passed out or dead on the bathroom floor with his mother crying over the body and a bottle of pills laying in his hand!!
The two things seem so different, though. I was struck by the personal sense of loss while crying. The feeling that, no matter what I do or did, it is over for him; he will never let go of that pain and open his heart again.
And I am alone.
I've got to get off of this thing and veg in front of the tv for a while, all...
