spilt milk, or the use of crying

What? So, you are a girl, a woman by now. What if that does not satisfy you? You're nowhere near. You know it.
It is a little sad, don't you think, to see yourself wasting away, unfulfilled and wallowing in self-pity. You don't want that, and yet you do, yes you do. Because it is the closest you can ever get.
When you are alone, in your own mind and the outside's out and the inside is inside of you, then the woman disappears. Do you feel good about yourself? Do you really get along with what and who you are? Sorry, I hope you don't mind my asking, who are you, anyway?
Can you face what you just wrote, or is this simply another few letters spilt on paper like milk and there's really no use, none whatsoever, crying over them?
Cut off. Cut if out. Doll. Cherie. Baby. Come on, love, don't cry. This milk has been spilt twenty-three years ago.