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Trying to learn to love myself post-Park Mioseon

Apparently there isn't anything particularly of interest for me back here in London. It's been a week or two since my return and it hasn't contributed to my ever-improving feeling of longingness for that one person. I try to stir something in me, but so far nothing has helped. There is no sign of depression, only a weird sense of wanting to find a valuable friendship with someone, anyone. Nothing. And it seems to me that there is no sense of interest coming from the world to do just that. So I contribute to myself however way I can, making sure that my sanity stays intact for the remainder of my days.

I try not to think of the other party -- I'm pointing my finger at Mioseon -- but most of the time it only reminds me how much I still want an answer. The why to my now, and even though my rage is still fresh, some part of me still wants that sweet, masochistic hardship back into my life, while she now revels in an orgy of self-fulfilling happiness. She finally figured out that I was the one holding her back.

I hate myself. I hate myself but I'd always forgive myself. The same way I would forgive Mioseon if she could forgive me. My life moves on from here, but the scars are forever. Etched like a tattoo, forever and a dream. In a life of what could have been if she'd conceived my child from her womb. The abortion stings me to death, and so does the sex, and I constantly find myself in a tantrum of insecurity, desperation, and constant paranoia.

There's nothing from her for me now. Please remind myself that constantly. It is only through her that all of this will have any desirable resolution. I hope in time she rids herself of fear from me, I hope she doesn't. I don't know what I hope. Pero que sera sera, I will bounce back with or without her, and there's only one way forward: vindication.

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