When I hit my low point, I immediately put Elvis Costello and Brian Eno’s My Dark Life on repeat. The silliest part is, I absolutely adore this song. I love slow-dancing to it. I love singing it out loud when I’m in a deliriously happy mood.

But I’m also drawn to it in my darkest hours. Somehow it takes on a completely different meaning then. I don’t know how the same song can so befit moods on the opposite ends of the spectrum.

Someday I might have the strength to retell the last six months. With a little embellishment and Kenny Ortega, perhaps it could turn into a horrible Disney musical. And Mary Sue can be played by whichever current Disney starlet Haz is offended by. For maximum offensiveness any male characters should be played by the Jonas Brothers.

I want to purge everything in my head. Perhaps not in iambic pentameter, I am nowhere near Shakespeare. It used to be so easy to spill my guts out on pitas many years ago. When did I start censoring my words, cleaning up the grammar, making sure it all makes sense, when really, if it makes sense to me, who the hell cares?

Today felt like everything was just too difficult. Yet I had to keep it all together. For their sake. Maybe for my sake, as well. And then I hide in my room, curtains drawn, letting Elvis Costello’s voice draw me to the depths of despair.

I don’t understand any of this anymore.

Rebuilding is never easy.

It was all going so well, picking up the pieces.

A spanner thrown in the works. Should something have been said? Would it have mattered?

Perhaps not. Maybe this is what they call fate. Maybe this is what they call destiny.

Now, final words will be spoken. But it will be all business. Kindness? Always. Then we disappear, joining six billion souls in the fray.

What have we lost? What have we gained?