I am miserably unhappy — and I have no idea what to do about it.
For years, I’ve danced around having to admit that to myself. When exactly did it start? I’m not sure. Maybe it started as soon as I became psychologically self-aware enough to see my life clearly. But I’ve never wanted to call it by its true name.
I’ve been able to admit that I was lonely. I’ve been able to admit to being crushed by not having the love and companionship I need. I’ve even been able to face the enormous consequences of losing what little semblance of family love I once had.
I’ve lied to myself. I’ve told myself I was fine except for this one thing or that other thing. The things I’ve told myself were true, as far as they went. I did so much difficult emotional work that I knew which pieces were missing. I knew which pieces of my core were damaged. I had excellent head knowledge.
But my message to myself was always a partial lie. It was a way to keep from sliding into the deep pit of misery from which it would be hard to return. But I haven’t been OK — not really — for a long time. Maybe I never have been.
All I know is that I have somehow deprived my life of love. And without love, there is no happiness, no meaning, no joy.

Dogs, cats and children remind me of all the joy in small things
Living without human connection? It’s an empty life with no meaning
FRIDAY FUNNIES
If he cheats at Cracker Barrel, he’ll eventually cheat you, too
Looking for the Boston scapegoat? You’ll never find perfect security
The Alien Observer:
Does every loss of love finally become a case of ‘sour grapes’?
Do they allow dogs at the hotel? Question is why they allow people
If you’ve gotten on the wrong bus, nothing changes until you get off