Where does the line fall between the parental responsibility for loving and caring for a child that you've forced into existence, and your own personal responsibility for growing as a person? I wish I knew.

Even when sleep does eventually take over it is fitful, tortured slumber, filled with nightmares of her spending time with her new love, sweet memories gone bitter, and reruns of hurtful things she said.

This realization and the feelings of inadequacy that follow will sting forever, long after I move on. I've never struggled with low self-esteem before, but knowing that I'm not someone's first choice anymore emboldens all my insecurities. To love someone is to see the world through their eyes, and it’s harder to believe in your own magic when those who used to see it no longer do.

I worry I'm trauma dumping too much and taking advantage of their kindness. So I turn back to writing, and churn out thousands of words every day, more than I even have time to edit and publish here.