Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

This grief is crushing. I miss my old life, the joy I had with my family and with my friends. Now I’m filled with sadness, anxiety, and fear. I’m tired of pretending to be strong. It feels impossible to keep carrying on when everything feels meaningless. Trying to find hope again feels like a constant battle, and right now, I’m just so worn down.

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It’s like I’m not even myself anymore. I feel so lost and empty, like a part of me has died inside. I’m just going through the motions, not even sure of what I’m doing most of the time. This isn’t a “new normal” – it’s not normal at all, and I don’t think it ever will be. I can’t find any joy in anything… My heart goes out to those who have found a way to navigate this difficult and undesired path.

I’ve been existing for 17 months now. Some days are tougher than others, but I can’t remember the last time I had a truly “good” day (Actually I do – any day before November 29th, 2022 was a good day).

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I’m running on fumes. Work gets done, but that’s about it. It’s like I’m just going through the motions, existing but not really living. No matter how hard I push, I feel stuck. Exhaustion and a sense of futility are dragging me down. It’s hard not to ask why it happened and what I could’ve done better. Every day feels the same, a blur of weeks.

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The thought of everything is overwhelming. Every little task feels like a mountain I have to climb. Even going back home for a month, something I used to love – buying the tickets used to spark such joy, I was looking forward to a chance to recharge. Now, the whole trip just fills me with dread. I know my friends care, but honestly, all I can handle right now is some peace and quiet.

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A spouse dies, you’re a widow. Parents die, an orphan. But a child? There’s no word. You’re just…hollow. Grief isn’t a clock that punches out after a set time. Society (and friends) expect you to be “over it” and get on with life. “Life goes on!” they say, chirpy and, suddenly, clueless. “Let’s go see a tribute band!” No. I can’t feel a damn thing. Yet, I’m there, a ghost in the crowd. “Easter lunch at my house?” Why? I just want silence. But the house fills with noise and faces. “The Rolling Stones must see event?” Ugh, no! I never even liked them! Yet, here I am, trying to squeeze into clothes that feel foreign, driving one hour to the venue.

My friends, the ones who’ve been there for me since November of ’22, have unintentionally become like pushers lately. I get that they care, but their attempts to get me back into social life feel overwhelming. Society itself feels foreign right now, like a place I don’t recognize anymore.