I haven't slept more than 4 hours a night in the last two weeks. The cold of the Atlantic hisses around me. I smell more than feel it.

I did everything right. I thought I did. Top of my class. Fellowships. Publications in top journals. Found someone in a fucked up polyamorous situation that worked out. Knew I would have a son in my early 30's.

But then things went wrong and worse and worst. A train-wreck of years.

Sterling demanded I leave the nest. I should have stayed, continued working with Barb for that extra year. Maybe in that time a second child might have happened. The girl I always wanted and envisioned since I was a child. The one who called out to me across the screaming winds of chance and stupid fate. One of the few clear purposes to this wretched existence.

And so I jumped at the chance. When J found me what seemed like a perfect job in Baltimore. Those were the 3 worst years of my life. I hated my fool boss. I saw my career being strangled and raped next to me.

And so I jumped at the chance. When J found me what seemed like an okay holder faculty position. To get the fuck out of Baltimore and not die. G grew up more. She hoped I would focus on work less, but her true cunt nature had started to bleed through. So 2 years ago, she left. And 10 months before that told my son she was going to leave. I should hate her. Want her dead. But somehow I don't.

And so I jumped at the chance. Trying to save him and myself from the same fate my mother had been in with me. I tried with Katherine. Despite her husband being an absentee narcissist, she chose him basically.

And so I jumped at the chance. Trying to save him and myself from drowning in a red, ice-cold sea of hate that threatened to destroy us. I ran into Disease at a conference. It was love at first sight again. It seemed perfect. But she felt threatened by Katherine. So I broke up with her. But she still felt threatened. So I stopped being her friend. So I defended myself at odd times, in inexplicable ways, to prove I was true to her. But she was a disease. A borderline. A non-person. I shattered her with every ounce of cold hate I could spare. I still savor her crying hysterically into the phone. For 10 minutes. When she realized what she had lost. And that even if the alleged baby she'd magically cooked up after she broke up with me was real, that she could do that shit on her own.

And so I jumped at the chance. Trying to save him and myself by reaching out to an old kind-of friend, who was and still is the wife I hoped and wanted. But she turned out to be far more prone to being sick than I thought. But we still planned for the future. Having children at damn near 40. Finding a better job than this dead-end shithole that I suddenly found myself 4 years into.

And then COVID-19 happened. And like a sharp heel on thin glass, life shattered. And every remaining bruised, old, misshapen misbegotten dream that I'd tried to keep float quickly began to take on water. Needing to go into quarantine immediately because S's immune system is shit and she'd die. Hiring freezes everywhere and needing to stay in a position I hate at a university that I used to laugh about. Hearing her babble incessantly every day about every update about anything related to this goddamned plague. All to mask the profound deadly hurt of probably not getting to have children because of how old we are.

There are no more chances to jump to. I reached the other end of the ship. And all I can do is hold onto the railing while I watch and go down with it.

I did everything right. I thought I did.

No.

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