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No one else even notices it. I don’t understand how I can be there every moment of every single day and somehow not exist at the same time. Most days I think I’m not even a person. Not to them, not to myself. I look at my girls and this pit, this yawning pit of despair opens in me, because they’re so sweet and they’re so new and they’re going to go through everything I did, they’re going to do everything I’m teaching them and telling them to do to be happy, and I’m not happy, and I don’t know how to be happy.
