My world was larger before and it was mine, wholly mine. Now it's the result of some equation of loss. Then someone came in and it was the Big Bang and I folded into myself at the worst time, causing some stellar catastrophe and the worst implosion, so now all that's left is a void where everything used to be. Everything was just the fucking worst. A light has gone out in who I am and my soul is finally something I believe exists because what else could be the source of this ache I feel?

Here are my days: I can't leave the house still, barely seeing the sun, barely breathing anything close to the deep lungfuls of air I used to gulp down. Joy is a distant memory. I spend hours and hours just consuming media mindlessly because if I pay any mind to anything then I just feel the ache.

The tarot cards read you'd meet the One but I think they were talking about me meeting you. Some mystic miscommunication. The One who fucked it up and got sick. The One who can't even speak to her father or friends anymore because of such deep-seated anger for mucking things up when they were already so muddled. The One who carries shame on her shoulders and it weighs so heavy my neck cracks every time I try to move, but it could also be because I can only sleep on the couch despite the bed not even being a foot away because the memory of your body once occupying it makes it now a No Occupation zone. The One who lost the One.

Sleep can't even be an escape since for the first time in my life, insomnia has become a friend. A fiend, a foe. But I now know it intimately. We dance every night with the aches and every morning I wake up just devastated. Then I try again. Do tasks, life maintenance type things. Nothing big but it feels insurmountable, the effort needed to do what used to be easy. Possibly due to the medication, possibly due to the devastation. Then the anger comes again and I can't even reach out to my father in fear he may misinterpret it and cause more harm to go out into this world of mine already so filled with hurt. So I sit in it and remember that goodbye came even before then, that the loss of affection and attachment was due to my own unraveling, my unhinged behavior. So the anger turns inwards, cause Jesus why couldn't you just keep your shit together for a little bit? Some part of my brain kicks in and recognizes it's a disease, possibly even feeling resentment at having to go through the journey alone when he knew it was getting so bad for me. Then I press play on Netflix or some dumb true crime fodder just to quiet it for a second because this is a cycle that will repeat over and over throughout the day and I need a break. Get just enough reading done to passively participate in classes, but not enough and I know it. Leaving the house only for necessities, confined to these walls I can barely pay for now. Confined with my misery as the warden.

When sleep does come, it's fitful and filled with images of your face. I can't escape the ache of loss, the grief. Time has passed but it's getting sharper, not duller with every hour that separates us.

But who knows how long this will last. The Joy was momentary and now I have to remember for longer than I knew it. Perhaps this too will pass but at the moment it doesn't seem possible and my world is too small to accommodate anything else. I miss who I was in June, but perhaps that's the only version of myself I successfully did kill.