There is such a cruel disconnect between that which we feel is true
and truth.
There was a day,
and I don’t know if it’s something I should feel grateful for,
where I was greeted by sunshine and warmth,
kind words,
and smiling friends.
I laughed and sang and danced.
I was excited and fulfilled and happy.
But I was sad,
and I was frustrated,
so, I ran, and I ran fast
to my home and the truth I knew.
I woke up from this midday dream,
a separate truth.
The dawning of my dread and despair
was momentarily masked
as I was forced to face a lover
who was filled
with excitement and gratitude
The truth I knew was sadness
and fear
and burnout
and had grown
into a pervasive despondence.
Inconsolable and out of control.
Depressed and without comfort.
No external validation could ever be enough.
Go to work.
I’ll do my best.
Come home.
I’ll keep pushing.
One week of dishes sitting in the sink.
Two weeks of laundry sitting in the dryer.
Three weeks of mail sitting on the coffee table.
A month and a half since the lost grocery trip.
Always working towards a catharsis which never comes,
I feel foolish as I bridge
the worlds of feeling and knowing,
frightened by an alarming series of
setbacks, unlearning, deprogramming.
What I feel is so disgustingly harsh
to the point it obscures and denies
the truths the universe knows.
God, I desperately wish I could be in the Boston Public Garden
and feel a sense of peace I have not known in years.
Feb 16
Feb 16, 2026 at 7:52 PM UTC
There is such a cruel disconnect between that which we feel is true
and truth.
There was a day,
and I don’t know if it’s something I should feel grateful for,
where I was greeted by sunshine and warmth,
kind words,
and smiling friends.
I laughed and sang and danced.
I was excited and fulfilled and happy.
But I was sad,
and I was frustrated,
so, I ran, and I ran fast
to my home and the truth I knew.
I woke up from this midday dream,
a separate truth.
The dawning of my dread and despair
was momentarily masked
as I was forced to face a lover
who was filled
with excitement and gratitude
The truth I knew was sadness
and fear
and burnout
and had grown
into a pervasive despondence.
Inconsolable and out of control.
Depressed and without comfort.
No external validation could ever be enough.
Go to work.
I’ll do my best.
Come home.
I’ll keep pushing.
One week of dishes sitting in the sink.
Two weeks of laundry sitting in the dryer.
Three weeks of mail sitting on the coffee table.
A month and a half since the lost grocery trip.
Always working towards a catharsis which never comes,
I feel foolish as I bridge
the worlds of feeling and knowing,
frightened by an alarming series of
setbacks, unlearning, deprogramming.
What I feel is so disgustingly harsh
to the point it obscures and denies
the truths the universe knows.
God, I desperately wish I could be in the Boston Public Garden
and feel a sense of peace I have not known in years.
