Nothing fits.

Forty years ago I made a wrong turn in the road. I didn't realize it at the time. No one realized it at the time. I didn't realize it until forty years later. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks and nothing has been the same ever since. There is no one I can talk to about this. There is no one who would understand. Part of me feels like this is some sort of giant cosmic joke. And part of me sees evidence that would support that idea, but just considering that evidence is a sign that a person is definitely not well. I have enough rage in me to destroy every single molecule in my life. This is the cumulative sum of decades of wrong decisions, with every single decision made out of a deep sense of doing the most right thing for the greatest number of people. That is not how to live a life.