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I feel sick and possessive and jealous. I want to throw myself off something high. I want to break things loudly. I want to go to his place and smash his windows. I feel out of control but I know I can’t do any of that because I’m worse. I have no claim on him whatsoever.
At some point, I learned something important: that being ill could dissolve the uncompromising infrastructure of your young life like so many bad dreams. Instantaneously, sympathy! Others to do for you what normally you were left alone to manage! And most importantly, liberty from obligation.