He is Not You
I saw a familiar face on the board, but it couldn't have been you. If it were you who won the award, you would have called, right? Tell me you would. Tell me you haven't completely forgotten about me.
OK, don't say a word. Maybe it's you after all. How could I miss that cocky grin of yours? That man on the board, he probably has as much power to spoil and then destroy a woman as you do.
No. I am not damaged. I am a survivor. I have always been strong.
Or am I? Of all the things you could have done to appear in front of me, you chose to be on this freaking news article. Why did you have to come back and haunt me this way? It's so pretentious.
You won the award. Congratulations. You won; I lost.
I lost my edge. I lost my mentor. I lost my love. I lost myself—All because of you. I don't even sound like me anymore. I don't want to hold a grudge. It's not like I wasn't already a bitter person before I met you. I really want to be proud of you. I even want to tell you in person.
But I can't. Maybe that's the problem.
I was your girlfriend, fiancée, confidante, surrogate surgeon… everything. I am entitled to be happy for you. Yet, here I am, not knowing your phone number. It's as if you'd deliberately removed yourself from my life. No wonder people don't expect me to be happy for you. In fact, Erica Hahn wants me to hate you.
I want to hate you too. I just don't know how.
Rather, I hate myself for feeling happy for you, for thinking of you. I can't believe after all that you've done, my body still tingles with a mixture of excitement and grief every time I pass by that board. Tell me which is worse: The fact that you left me, the fact that you pretended I never existed, or the fact that I still miss you?
I am such a fool. If everyone expects me to feel angry at you, maybe I should. I don't believe there is a God, but whoever is in charge is a bitch. You can't have a person be so in love with me one minute and dump me the next. Something must have gone terribly wrong in Nature…
Fine. This is official. I am mad at you, because there isn't anything else I can do. I am mad that an arrogant jerk like you made me experience so much love. I am furious how you turned me into a girl who was fuzzy and warm inside; one who cared about her relationship so much so that she jeopardized her career to save her boyfriend's.
You see, there's too much stupidity going on at Seattle Grace. I can't continue to live my life like a ghost. I need to stop enjoying the morgue more than the OR, even if we used to have more fun together with the cadavers than saving lives. You seem to have moved on. So should I.
I know I need to learn to hate that person on the board. I just wish that wasn't you.