Coming up on four years, and my body keeps generating

My marriage was probably falling apart anyway when my ex took off to take a masturbation class with Caroline, who was or soon became her girlfriend.  The separation wounded me badly.  Broadly speaking a spent a year living with PTSD, two years with depression, and the most recent year withdrawing from everything associated with that experience.  

And we've had Trump in the meantime.  The first president of any country to not understand the difference between qualifications for the Nobel Peace Prize and a NYS indictment.  Why the same behavior would not qualify you for both, or neither, is a mystery only Don understands.

I still think of my ex far too often.  I'm journaling this because it's four years old and I woke up this morning mad at her still.   (Note:  I'm on Zoloft and forgot to take it yesterday...my ex comes up far less when I take anti-depressants,)

It's been a long haul, and there's no real light at the end of the tunnel.  I'm not as disabled and sad all the time. But try as I might, the length of this ordeal, and the project of rewriting my relationship with my life partner--from success to tragedy--has wasted, consumed, and abused my consciousness for an eternity.  It's  changed my relationship with my parents, who died in 2004 and 2012 selectively.   

It's turned me into a loner.  Perhaps the Zoloft is to blame, but I haven't shown a spark of interest in romance, intimacy, or sex.  

I don't know myself, though $120,000 of talk therapy, psychiatric assisted Ketamine therapy, and just about everything else, has made me appreciate myself more than I did during my marriage.

I'm not nice.  I'm not sweet.  But I'm a survivor.  My body wants to stay healthy somehow, despite my inability to provide a peaceful metaphysical state.  I am not connected, so my health feels like it's a generator in a cabin deep deep in the forest, keeping the lights on while the owner is gone.