It was one year ago today that I received a phone call.

I was helping my friend who was going through chemotherapy and his son who is my best friend. I loved them both dearly.

My wife had called me from halfway across the country to tell me she was leaving me, keeping the dogs, and that I was a homeless man.

I don't need to explain how this utterly destroyed me. I don't need to rehash her cope, her bullshit narrative, or how she'd been lying to me for God knows how long, sleeping with God knows who and exposing me to God knows what.

That day, February 5th, 1 year ago today, my life burned to ash. I lost everything I loved most; a good 85% of my life was instantly gone.

Today I am stronger in the ways that I have been forced to be. I've grown physically stronger. I've completed six months of school and started a new career. I'm slowly establishing myself in a new community and grown closer with my extended family.

Life has been a struggle. I've had deep, consistently real suicidal thoughts. I'm seeing a therapist, which, is about as useful as not seeing one. I've quit taking my SSRIs and I'm working out every day. There isn't much to say on this from the outside perspective; I realize how boring it sounds. From the inside though, it's my entire universe devolving steadily into a state of perfect entropy.

I know it sounds bleak, because it is. But I'm still alive, and I'm wiser. This has been my 1 year update.