She is.

I'm mostly over the "hysterical and unpredictable crying" stage and
have moved towards the "anger and disdain" stage, though tears find
their way to the outside every so often. I spent much of yesterday
sleeping as to avoid actually thinking but for the time I was awake I
convinced myself that dwelling on something I cannot change is neither
healthy nor productive. I spent a fair amount of time perusing
match.com making certain that normal sounding and looking guys did in
fact exist within my zip code. And they do. Lot's of them. Though I
feel a bit odd actually using something like match.com to meet people,
it is reassuring to know people are out there with similar interests.
The rest of my conscious time was spent reading everything I ever
wrote about this boy and it seems obvious that I knew the truth the
entire time but was willing it to change knowing it never would. That
just makes me feel insipid. But now I can move on knowing the
importance of sharing your feelings.

I guess the one thing I would ask him if I ever had the chance is why
he never brought this whole thing up much earlier, take for example
when he told me he was leaving. I guess I could have brought it up too
but he seems to be the one who was determined not to begin a
relationship and it would have been nice to actually know that instead
of having to speculate about it.

I don't know if I'd like to see him next summer while I'm in Italy.
I'm not sure if he's worth it, if I should let him spoil my summer
vacation. But he said he'd be there and I've already paid money to be
there. The trip had nothing to do with him initially and I suppose
it's a big enough place that I don't have to see him. But part of me
still kind of wonders even though I know I shouldn't bother.

When I tell people I am over him they do not believe me, except for
my mom, she believes me because she knows me well enough to
understand what I mean by that. Admitting that I no longer care is an
important step in actually not caring. Of course I care and yes some
little things remind me of him so very much and then I am forced
to realize that while we shared some of those things, they are still
mine in a separate sort of way.