New year.

He told me to take what he was saying at face value and not to worry about it having anything to do with me or anything that I had done, which made me worry about what I might have done to lead him to say that.

Hours later, he said I was making things worse in the exact way he told me not to. He said that my means of trying to solve every problem was just a matter of my being a brat who always had to get their way. He said that, if people continually call you melodramatic or too fucked-up to deal with, it's probably true. He said you can't go back and call it a problem that you have if you're not willing to take steps - like therapy - to try and fix it. If you are unwilling to fix the problem, you don't get the benefit of using your personality problems as a crutch.

It's not all about you, he said. You're not as good a person as you think you are, he said. He was right. He is right.

I kept making it worse by saying stupid, obnoxious, self-involved asides. We went to sleep, and, when I woke up, I was afraid to say anything at all. So, in the living room, we tossed around a football.

Once upon a time, I didn't think I would ever see him again. Then I saw him again. Then I saw him again. Then we fought, and I thought I would never see him again. Then I saw him again. Then I saw him again.