Ten months ago my significant other died from cancer. We had been a couple for a long time. For 3 months, I experienced bouts of horrible grief. I was wishing I had never been born. It was way worse than I had expected. In time, though, I recovered from that severe sense of pain. I even did very well over the 2020 holiday season.

Since January, I've not done so well as I had been doing the 4 previous months. It's just getting worse. I live alone and I hardly leave my apartment now. I have two friends I could meet up with, but I have little desire to visit with anyone. My family, who live far from me, call a lot and encourage me to visit them. I may do that, after I get my second COVID vaccine shot. I don't really look forward to traveling and visiting.

I don't feel real sorrowful all the time, but I have little interest in doing anything. My apartment is messy. I let dishes pile up and clean the kitchen maybe every third day. I put off even opening my mail. I put off doing everything and anything. I just watch TV and read. It's like nothing matters to me.

I know this is a form of depression. I don't feel all that despondent. I just seem to not believe I have anything to look forward to. I try to argue myself out of that - like they tell you to do in dialectical cognitive training. I tell myself that life will surely bring some good things that I can't even now imagine. I just don't believe it.

Having someone to love and be close to is the greatest joy there is. Many people manage to survive without that. But I don't think many find much joy in a solitary life. I don't even get dressed, until about 4 in the afternoon. I know having a daily routine would be healthier. I just can't seem to make myself.

I really thought that I would handle being alone better than I am doing. I now this is too soon to be fully recovered from my loss. But I'm just getting worse from one day to the next. I wish I could drum up a bit of hope that the future can be worth living. Deep down I just don't believe it.