The False Warmth of an Automated Email

Dear Delyara, I received an automated system alert from my platform host at midnight, wishing me a happy anniversary of my domain registration with a colorful digital graphic. I sat in my dark kitchen staring at that screen for twenty minutes, feeling an incredibly pathetic wave of sadness wash over me. A line of script on an American server is the only entity that acknowledged my timeline tonight. I am surrounded by people who claim to love me, yet I have structured my life so defensively that nobody actually knows how close I am to the edge. The system knows my dates, but it doesn't care if I breathe.