Far from the beginning
I feel miserable. And I'm tired of this prolonged malaise. I’ve done all the things on the proverbial feel-better list. But still—a lingering blankness. And not a person or a thing could ever mend it. Life feels wretched and lonely. I'm on a bench, looking out, rather than in it with everyone else. And when I look at the whole, I understand that everything is a web, and none of us are separate. But it's one thing to realize this and another to embody it as truth. There's a 100-pound weight fastened to my leg as I try to swim to the top. Everything is triple-effort. An upward battle with a dull sword and no armor. I don't expect joy to be a permanent fixture. But it feels forever ago since I've experienced deep happiness, deep safeness, deep togetherness...the kind that sticks to your bones and makes you feel alive and whole. Connection—an elusive, mythical thing. Love...it may as well be a cup filled with unicorn blood. A fable that always ends in carnage. A losing hand. We lie to others, and then we lie to ourselves. Life is too sadistic for anything fragile and pure to exist.