19 january 2026
Hello, journal. How time just so quickly slips passed us. It's already nearly the end of January. How did that happen? I haven't written a proper personal journal entry in a good while, and I feel as though I ought to. Things are okay with me, but they are different, now.
I've been back home for the past few days, and it looks like this is where I'll be long-term. Yet another incident happened with Yvonne. Another breaking point. Another breakup. There's a hole in her closet door from where she threw a glass just inches away from me. I have reached a point where I truly no longer feel safe with her. I feel helpless. I have tried for around a year now, to heal. To try to find the salve and balm. Meaning and purpose. I just don't think I'm the right person for this at this point. I have caretaker fatigue and burnout. If I went back, yet again yet again, it would be moreso out of pity than love. I understand Yvonne a lot more now than when this first happened. And I know how she is so, so small and cares so deeply. But after everything, she can still only find catharsis in violent, dangerous outburst. No matter what other coping skills or therapies or medications have been tried. She is plainly treatment-resistant.
There is so much that I need to grieve, so much lost. I feel as tough my optimism is pathological. That I am fucked-up in my own unique way, with a capacity of seeing the shape of a hopeful future ahead when there isn't one. I'm somehow thirty-years old and painfully naΓ―ve. And I know it won't stop. I know people are inherently good and that love always works better than fear or malice. These are fundamentals of the known universe.
I decided to do something weird and text every contact in my phone last night, I wished everyone well, I said that I hoped they were taking care of themselves and that their life was full of joy and wonder. Most people didn't get back to me. That's okay.
But I think we've been propagated towards being anti-social, or at the very least, asocial. I don't think it's good for our psyche. We are social creatures. Being shunned by our community causes our brains to experience the equivalent of physical pain.
I need to start at the beginning again, I know. Cultivate my loving-kindness, return to the basics of Buddhist meditation. Every sentient being in the universe is stricken with suffering. It is our job to eliminate as much of that suffering for others as possible. These are the fundamentals of the known universe.
I think I feel so wayward because things are going so good for me otherwise. I am making a living with my writing. That is a dream for nearly every writer. I am so privileged to continue to gain followers and revenue. I think I am honestly disgusted partly with myself over it. Who do I think I am? Where do I get off? I know writers plenty more talented and careful and hard-working than me haven't found the right channels, and maybe never will. It is all so cruel and arbitrary in sheer randomness. The colours of rainbows, our spectrums are too rich. We can step onto the quicksand where only one set of footsteps carries us into the deep, dark abyss.
I am so grateful for this life I have been given. It is so weird and random. I am so grateful I was able to try my best to take care of Yvonne and fall in love with her. I hope there is a silver bullet that just hasn't been discovered yet. I hope the car alarm turns into music.
There aren't any junebugs anymore, are there? I see less butterflies in the summer. Less bugs in general. What's happening? Where is Gaia? I wish I could text her. Ask how things are. But I wouldn't know how to keep the conversation going. That's beyond my paygrade.
Embodying emotions is difficult. I've become so good at intellectualization and compartmentalization because I've needed to do so for a lot of my life. But now I just want to feel. I do sometimes, but it is a flood of tears and my body forgets how to breathe. Breathe. Aspiration. I remain in aspiration. In hope and prayer for all others. I love you.