My First Great Love Hates My Guts
I Fear That His Judgment of Me Is True
The first time I thought someone might actually hate me, I had just received an email from my first boyfriend, three years after we broke up. He was replying to an invitation I’d sent to meet for coffee when I planned to visit Seattle from New York City later that month.
“Thank you for the invitation to catch up, however I must very respectfully decline,” he wrote.
Very respectfully decline? Coming from someone I had once known so well, that felt like the Internet equivalent of getting the door slammed in my …
