You know, there’s always the straw that breaks you. The last two weeks have dealt that hand. Normally a voice inside me starts a loop of positivity to counter the melancholy from setting in. Not this time. It seems like pieces of my heart and soul are strewn about; and this time, I’m letting them sit there. 

I haven’t the strength to pick it all up and put it back together. They can sit a while. I am careful not to let my energy poison the space around me. I put on a smile for work and mandatory activities then come home and go to bed. I sleep so much my roommate calls me a koala bear. I argue it’s more sloth-like but you know, whatever. I try to minimize the damage I do to just myself. 

And maybe, it’s possible, that I’m not actually doing damage. Maybe doing nothing is actually productive. I don’t think so, it doesn’t feel that way, but the world doesn’t make a lot of sense to me anyway. I don’t understand it at all. I don’t know how you can love and turn out to be 100% wrong in doing so. Not to mention, this is the latest in a series of mistakes the last few years. Ones that really cut to the core of who I am. After age 30, the damage doesn’t heal the same. I believed in him, supported him, and….I thought it was real. I was wrong. I’m giving up on thinking I even know what love is from this point forward. Clearly, I do not.