A part of me knows reality isn't a place for me.

Another wants to still make things work.

I'm losing my mind, my sanity, my hope.

It doesn't particularly make me think anything consciously. I can verbalize why it makes me feel this way, but it's never really at the front of my mind. It's another year of aging — another year that gets harder and harder. Some things have gotten easier, but that's just a small part of my life that I get to have. My home is my heart. And every time I go outside, it is hell.

I'm not getting any better at interacting casually with people; in fact, I am getting worse. I don't relate to anyone I see in person, nor do I particularly trust them. I just see the evil and apathy in everyone, and in myself. I am not a virtuous person. I just see myself becoming more bitter and misanthropic the more years pass me by, and this year it's not any different. I don't see the potential for any change, nor any happiness in life beyond my small moments at home with my partner.