“Who’s to say,” he continues, “that how you feel for people, when you obsess over them, isn’t love? Who ever told you that? Who told you that your feelings are so invalid that you are incapable of feeling love just because they’re different from the norm?” “I told myself that, I think.” It comes out as a little more than a whisper, but he hears me all the same. He nods, closes his notebook, and crosses his legs, reclining back in his chair a bit. “As I’m sure you know, we are always our biggest critics. We can tell ourselves how fat we are, how ugly we are, and how unlovable we are. We like to
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