...and what am I do to with the information you so indifferently tossed out to me? You feel nothing? You are not capable of loving? I hear the sound of glass (which is my heart) shattering into thousands of exquisite glistening razor shards, slashing at my very existence. You don't love me? You don't love me? I hear screaming. It is my mind shrieking with disbelief and horror at this news.
I have digested this news and chosen to deal with it by referral. I will believe you are not taking your antidepressants and thus are not in a reasonable mind. You are not you. (Please God, let that be the truth).
Yet, I always suspected it on some level. I always suspected that because you were unable to value yourself you were equally unable to love anyone else. But fuck, I wish you hadn't said it outloud.
Now I pantomime my days as the me I used to be, before the news. I pretend to laugh and care and live...