The more I ask for love the more I am mocked and ridiculed that I cannot be happy alone. I can be happy alone, I just am not happy now. I wonder how my naysayers would feel if they had not been married for a year, three years, thirty years, sixty years. How if everyone they wanted to love either kicked them to the curb after they got what they wanted, or disappeared into the night with not so much as a goodbye, let alone an explanation?
How would they feel if every time they reached out, in fear and trembling, for comfort and support, to be exhorted to work, work harder on their careers, to forget love and happiness for they ought be happy, with all of their advantages! and carry on in this vein until the speaker can only be silenced with shouting anger?
I know that I am not doing well. I sit on the floor, books, pens, and notepads scattered around me. I sit at my desk, and stare at the blinking cursor; it mocks me with its infinite patience.
I was brought here by a lie. Lies, all lies!
I left my family. I left my friends. I left everything, and for what? I'm striving to squeeze the lemons until they give me enough juice to enable me to return home, but every day I grow weaker, every day I grow sicker, and every day robs me of just a little more hope.
I used to love my work so much. I still love it...but I am stuck. And alone - alone out here - and my family seems farther and farther away every day.
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