I wish my life would go back to normal. I wish this were happening to someone else. I wish all I had to complain about right now is boredom at work, horrible noxious aunties at work with whom I have to share the same office space, bitchy unreasonable bosses. I would go back to my previous job and suffer 1 a.m. work nights every day without the option of ever quitting if it meant that this would go away.
I have forgotten what it feels like to wake up in the morning without this heavy cloud of some imminent finality hanging over my head. I have forgotten what it feels like to be genuinely happy without guilt. I have forgotten what my life was like before all this happened.
Yet, it's not about me. If I think I'm suffering...it's nothing compared to the true suffering that's currently taking place.
I can't even put it into words.
I can't be bothered to talk to anyone. I feel like I can't relate to anyone anymore. I don't care about their problems because they are trivial and inconsequential compared to what I'm going through. I don't have anything to say to anyone because they don't know what I'm going through. At work I research obsessively, fruitlessly; I cry intermittently. I hear mindless conversations around me and it makes me angry that this is happening to me, to us, and not them. Why us? Why is this happening so close to home?
There is no reason, of course. There is no greater purpose, no divine plan. It's sheer bad luck.
I'd rather it were happening to me, sometimes.
I'm just numb most of the time nowadays. When I'm not, all that I feel is hopeless, desperate despair.