Troubled twenties

So far, my twenties have been an exhausting hell.
All because the pandemic had its way with me.
From small slashes, mighty oaks fall. And I fell.
With a tectonic shift, my world ceased to be.
What happened? Is this real? I cannot tell.
My soul has been severed from what I can see.
I'm broken. Not too sure where I belong.
I do not know how, but something went wrong.
Nothing makes sense.
Always speechless.
Ungrateful and lifeless.
I should not be like this.
It kills me to look into her eyes.
The worry in hers, the shame in mine.
It's too much, I cannot face the lies.
Instead, I insist that all is fine.
It seems impossible to obtain,
The ability to love again.
I'm trying, but I might as well be failing.
Not a thing has worked, I'm really ailing.
No one sees the gravity of my misery.
Only my MacBook knows the stressful history.
Will I admit this secret? That's a mystery.
They will not understand, do not know how it feels.
The struggle to function, or the daily ordeals.
They think it's algebra, but they are mistaken. This is calculus.
The stagnant confusion, painful emptiness, it is all fathomless.
This will be a burden to them all, cannot persuade me otherwise.
I should just keep this to myself, even though that is not very wise.
Do not know what to do, I cannot choose.
All I know is that I'm sick of the blues.
I'm not here, nor was I ever there.
This condition is too much to bear.
Reality is grim when sober.
I plead for it all to be over.
Nonetheless, I still hope and pray,
That this ache is not here to stay.
That I will stop being its prey,
And that all will be well, one day.