She's not...
 
She's not going to get better. I'd like to say we tried, but it was mostly me. I tried. I gave my all to make her better. When she mumbled, I told her to speak up. When she stuttered, I told her to repeat it properly. When mentioned her problems, I did all I could do to help her. It was me, all me. She's broken beyond repair, a solitary figure in the corner of the room, shaking, crying, pitiful, terrified, useless -
 
Yes, useless.
 
She was never ideal. I remember eyes drawn to her feet, nervous laughter, a hopeful smile at a kind word - at the time, it seemed endearing. I thought I saw myself in her, and thought we should be together. Just a guy and a girl, being broken together. That's the dream, isn't it? Two broken people, fixing each other. I gave myself over to that dream, and I tried to ignore the warning signs. She looked like she was doing well, too - she didn't mention panic attacks for weeks. Maybe she was just scared to admit they were still going on.
 
That's the thing, isn't it?
She's scared. Scared of work, scared of life, scared of people - scared of me?
 
Is she?
She can't be. I was good to her. I was GREAT to her. I took that weeping mess and tried to sort it out into a real person. She's thankful to me. She loves me. She NEEDS me. At this point she would drop out of the university and just accept a life of being a worthless cafe worker, if it wasn't for me. I'm not being egocentric here, these are facts. I helped her. A solitary figure in the corner of the room, shaking, crying, pitiful, terrified, useless and beyond repair.
 
The dream is gone. I gave everything I had to make it real, but I can't change facts. Let that broken person sort this mess out, and find another shoulder to cry on. I'm done. I'm finished.