I am miserable all of the time. I feel guilty for saying that. I question if it is true. It must not be true. I have certainly had moments, or hours, or even days, where I was not miserable. But, currently, I feel like I am miserable all of the time. My brain is never at peace. I forget what “content” feels like. I am constantly thinking of everything that is wrong. This includes everything from the state of the world to the rough calluses on my heels. I struggle to think of one comforting thought. I search for it like a breath. If I could just think of one nice thought, my brain would be flooded with oxygen, and all of this misery would fade away. I try to picture my friends’ smiles. I try to picture beautiful views I’ve had the privilege of seeing. I try to remember times of laughter. I try to remind myself that I am safe, and I try to conjure a memory of truly feeling safe.

Everything distorts in my brain space. A friend’s smiling face inspires the sadness of missing, and an anxiety that I can never know if anyone truly loves me. Beautiful views are either caught up in bittersweetness and old faces, or inspire only an intense nostalgia and longing. Sometimes I can remember laughing, but the circumstances are always fuzzy, and I know I will never find those circumstances again. I am full of bitterness and disappointment and despair. My emotions are a taint on everything that could be bright or sweet. Tears wait anxiously at the edges of my vision at all times. I feel no hope. I can come up with nothing to look forward to, nothing to be excited for, only anxiety. 

I have been inside for eight months. I hate everyone who goes outside. I hate everyone who gets to hug a loved one. I hate everyone for having loved ones that they know, for sure, love them. What does it feel like? What does it feel like to know? I can still feel the wound from the last time I thought I knew. Sometimes it feels more like a scar, but right now it is a gaping, rotting wound. When I let myself observe it, I am overwhelmed with feelings of humiliation, rage, and despair. I am ashamed that it still hurts. I can see that in the grand scheme of the entire universe, my biggest wound means nothing. I can see others surviving much worse. I can see others overcoming and thriving, making the best of what they were given. I am afraid this is the best I can do.