Dearest Diary,
We have oft been called the weaker sex, and for good reason, I suppose. I cannot continue to garner the strength to hold up the others of my sex who share the same woes of maidenhood that I do. I am, to be quite frank, exhausted and feeling as though I might live up to the description of not the gentler, but the weaker of the sexes.
I am certain I am not alone. I have many friends who are not allied to a gentleman, or legally bound to him. And I hear of their anguish quite regularly. I empathize with them as I listen to their tales. Being in the nature of a good friend, I am apt to try to lift their spirits, or to hear them out and become the ground on which they find the strength to stand in such pain. I have strived to be a foundation, even when I, myself need the same from my friends. But I am weakening by the moment, and I fear I have not felt the same boost from them. I do not fault them for it, for I doubts as my own attempts have been met with much success.
There is a reason we were given to man -- we, as the weaker sex, cannot handle the weight on our own. Although I have tried valiantly to be a shoulder to cry upon, I am none compared to the more broad-shouldered variety found among gentleman. I ache for such shoulders this evening. I am burdened beyond words, and yet the ones I have mind to speak, I cannot to even my closest of friends. For they have not the strength to carry me, either. It is a weight only tenable on the shoulders of man. I have held back tears, and the anguish I feel in order that I might not increase the load among friends. But I am in need of their help, for I have not the wealth of matrimony. Would that things were different. At present, I abhor tomorrow...
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