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I am broken. Hollow. The things I’ve cared about most in the world have crumbled before my eyes and left me destitute. I’ve been despised, ostracized, abandoned, and punished by silence. I’m a boat adrift at sea, rudderless and without oars.

I agonize over every detail in my novels, how much more so for emails between coworkers, colleagues, family, friends, and those infinitesimal few who are closest to me? Do my words matter so little? Miscommunication: the difference between the intent of the sender and the interpretation of the receiver. Despite clarifying, I’m rebuffed with anger and shunned with silence, and that breaks my soul. The darkness of my downward spiral rushes up and smothers me, and they know it. It has become intentional.

I’ve been pushed to the brink, and now, I’m giving up. I’ve been the object of ridicule before, and it’s never bothered me, but to be so to those who hold a sliver of my heart is in anguish I can’t describe. It’s left me fractured to the core. While the world teeters between isolation and not, I’m alone. I live alone, have no acquaintances to call, no people to see, thousands of miles from the family I never hear from, might as well be a galaxy away from the people I count as significant.

Anger can drive you to do great and terrible things, but so can love; both have the power to destroy. My plea with you is to be careful of whom you destroy in anger; such things have lasting effects that echo throughout the lifetime of those around you.