Today is the first day I’ve really felt it. I only sent the letter on Thursday, so I’ve hardly had time to dwell on it, but today is the first day I’ve actually felt sad. I mean that as in I have been perfectly alright but I have been sad all day, as opposed to my usual mix of seventeen different emotions per hour. I have thought about it a lot and it’s affected my mood throughout the day. I’ve been reluctant to get too involved in conversation with colleagues and I’ve been eager to spend more time on my own. I’ve decided to go back to using my motorola so I don’t have to speak to people or be aware of what’s going on as I think space from everything will allow me to process it all properly and I even drove home from the gym with no music on. I haven’t had the same urge to eat everything that I usually get but I have had the urge to smoke, although that isn’t anything new when I’m stressed or sad. I don’t really get sad though. Sometimes I feel shit and sometimes I’m pissed off, but I am very rarely, if ever, just sad. It’s a weird thing to understand. I think I know I’m properly sad because I usually get vexed when I find myself in a negative situation that is out of my control, yet in this situation I’m not even slightly annoyed at being completely unable to influence events or my own emotions, I am just sad. Sad. I could go and dig out a thesaurus and come up with a multitude of different words to describe how I feel – heartbroken, lost, defeated, empty, desolate, despondent – but I don’t think any word sums up one’s emotions better than the word sad. I’m so sad that, despite having such a wealth of emotion to draw on, all I can think to write is that I’m fucking sad. That’s it. I don’t even have the energy to explain to you how gut wrenchingly hard I am already finding it, or how embarrassingly dramatic I was when I cried whilst writing the letter and listening to Adele, or how I worry that I’m never going to find someone who made me feel as happy, comfortable and secure as he did. I can’t be bothered to talk to anyone about it because there’s absolutely nothing that they could say that would make me feel better and, unfortunately, there is no one I really want to talk to about it other than him. I think about trying to hate him, or trying to get angry at the things he did, or trying to convince myself that he never really cared anyway, but it’s all pointless because I’d have to be a fucking idiot to be able to convince myself that I am not just painfully sad that I’ll never speak to him again. Not even writing about it helps.