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.

‘Vast military-industrial complex’ keeps growing and keeps killing
Tell me the music you listen to and that’ll reveal a lot about you
In the face of hazardous times, some still driven to be helpers
New Year’s resolutions don’t change anything until we change ourselves
We know our world must change, but we keep saying, ‘yes, but…’
Without community, we no longer know each other, in life or death
Looking for truth in random noise? Or is there meaning for me in this?
We all live with a death sentence, but we act as if we’ll live forever