When I simultaneously feel like a little 6 yo girl handing him flowers and desperately wanting him to love me, hating him for his 4 word reply to a vulnerable email, dreading Thanksgiving scheduling, being terrified that I can't really afford therapy, but can't afford not to go, either, and emailing him about all of it - repeatedly (and sometimes drunk and at 3:00am).

The man has the patience of a saint.