It’s been a rough year. I keep thinking to myself that sooner rather than later things are going to take a turn for the better, but they don’t.

About ten years ago, I told someone (who used to be a friend) that I didn’t care if it took another ten years for things to get better, I was okay with that and I was willing to wait. I’m at the tail end of those ten years and there’s been no let-up.

Between the separation and divorce, severe depression, weight gain and hair loss, and general everyday struggles, I feel the fight go out of me more and more each day.

I know it’s pretty bad when I spend the second half of Christmas day alone,Β  bawling my eyes out in utter despair, instead of being with my children, instead of being with friends who were wonderful enough to invite us over for Christmas dinner.

I wish I could say that this was an exception, but in the last year or so this has become my reality. I feel more and more isolated. The things that brought me joy are becoming burdensome to me. I feel like I’m breaking the already fragile pieces of myself that are barely holding together to be there for my loved ones.

I waste my time mindlessly on Pinterest or 7 Little Words. When I read, I have to reread the passages a thousand times before it makes any sense. When my children are playing boisterously, I tell them to quieten down instead of reveling in their joyful laughter.

I had a life coach for a brief period who helped me sort through some of the tougher things from my past, and just as I felt I was gaining strength, I had my hand-bag stolen from my car, the ceiling in my bedroom leaked and ruined so many of my things, a memory card full pictures of the last half of this year has suddenly gone blank, and someone who was falling all over himself to show me that he had feelings for me did a sudden about-face. Losing my wallet and handbag felt like such a violation. Those thieves had taken things that were irreplaceable. When the things in my bedroom were destroyed by all that water, the thing that was most devastating was that my vision board was destroyed. This was really symbolic for me – it echoed what I always seem to say in my head these days: it doesn’t matter because it’ll all be taken away from me. The loss of the photos was devastating for so many reasons. Both my girls’ birthday photos and Lola’s birthday eve interview were on there amongst so many other things. And him. For a really brief, giddy moment, it felt like he was all I’d ever prayed for – even though neither of us had acted on those feelings. Alas, it wasn’t to be.

And so the hollowness just grows and grows.

That’s all I have to say about that…

For now.