But when she did she was long gone, long gone.

I think that you and I really are connected, M. I was just pulling into my driveway from a nice little Walmart jaunt with Sam, and I was thinking the whole way home about the Dichotomy of Danielle. I'm not a patient person. Not in the least. And yet it's not hard for me to count on both hands all of the things I've done or am willing to do for the people I love. Joe called this afternoon, last minute, because he wanted a babysitter so he could make a trip to Malone with some of his friends. I called work and tried to switch my schedule around so that I could help him out. I needed the hours, so I couldn't today, but I tried. And I'm babysitting for him tomorrow afternoon. Now those boys are my life, and I welcome every chance I can to watch them grow, but there are people out there who wouldn't do the things my family does for each other. The lesson here is that I really am a very kind, generous person. I think that if I really had someone in my life who I was falling for, truly felt was my equal, that I would do a lot of things for him that I hate doing. Cooking and cleaning, for example... two of my least favorite things. I guess what I'm trying to get at here is that I just read your blog and I know exactly how you're feeling. And that is the Dichotomy of Ben. His moodiness is part of the package. I hated it too. Because for me, being with him was always enough to boost any mood I was in. There were nights I'd come home and he'd have rented my favorite movies and a plate would be waiting for me. But in the very next night, I'd come home to a nasty letter saying that the dishes needed to be done, and I owed him money for such and such a bill. And his favorite quip: "you've changed." Um, no, I haven't. I just have to adapt myself to my circumstances because I never know what I'm going to come home to. It became so exhausting for me, that I would spend hours at my job, after I'd clocked out, because those were the people I could count on. Those were the people who were there for me, who cared about and loved me, who never wanted to see me down. In the end, it broke us. I cannot, and will not, deal with someone so emotionally closed off that they can't have a simple conversation about why they're upset. And I liked to think that I fought the good fight. I gave it my all, right up until the very end, because I wanted to be that for him. I wanted to be the one that could make him happy when he had a bad day. Sometimes it worked. But it was never enough. I'm writing this to you because I want you to know you're not alone. And it's not you. He's been like this for a long time now; it's like as soon as he lets you in and becomes comfortable enough, you pay a price. I think you just have to decide if it's too high. For your sake, I hope that it's not. You know where to find me if you want to talk about it. If not, I simply hope that this letter makes you feel a little less alone and a little bit more like you're still the wonderful person you always were.