I had a life once. It was busy and fulfilling. There was purpose and direction, and my confidence was strong. I traveled to interesting places where I met interesting people. My work was something I was really good at doing.
Then came a bad decision, one that seemed good at the time, but came to fruition quickly as an unexpected, unbelievable situation. I got lost.
The lost years. It feels to me now as if that slice of my life never existed. There is nothing to show for it. There is nothing in my present life about it except for a great deal of pain. I’ve been swallowed up by grief and loneliness so profound that nothing makes sense anymore.
The future is about growing old alone, being destitute, and continued rejection from two people I love more than my own life. They will never see this post.
I am forgotten.