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Constance, what would you tell me?
You’d probably tell me that getting involved in anything other than a superficial way with an Irish-American who “wants to do my part” for Irish republicanism is a bad idea. You’d probably tell me that if she cannot understand what I am dealing with, both in work and mental illness, and that there are some things I cannot share or can only share bits of, she isn’t worth my time. You’d probably tell me that there are others who can and will understand.
You’d probably tell me that she’s the one with the mental illness since she is sure Satan is involved from the get-go. You’d probably tell me that I got along before we were best mates and UI’ll get along if we are no longer best mates. Ahh, but dear Constance, I had you. You were the glue that kept my mind together. Now you are gone and I feel fractured and alone.