Happy New Year is what we say to each other, and I am guilty of that. The reality is that it is far from happy for many of us. I have been depressed for many years now, but something happened in 2020 that killed a part of me. I won’t go into the full details, but I have always been independent. I have never wanted a boyfriend. All I wanted was to experience a few things and have someone be attracted to me, at the very least. I have loved many people who preferred another woman to me. What is wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough? Thin enough? In 2020, I met a man via submitting to his Literary Journal. We were forced to be solely long-distance (he was Canadian) due to the pandemic, and I would never get to meet him/love him in person because he died that Christmas. It’s been over a year now, and I am expected to be okay. But, they don’t understand that I have been hurt over and over again. And, I find it bizarre that anyone would try to fill that hole with other people who aren’t him. I got so angry the other night that I said I hated him to the sky. And, now it’s New Years Day, and all I see are posts about how bloody happy everyone is with their boyfriends/girlfriends/wives/husbands/fiancés/others. It’s bullshit.