Sometimes, late at night, I’m visited by dread and shame. I lie in bed and think of somebody else’s life. I imagine the love that they’re getting and the relief that comes from being really known. The private pleasures they share. The friends they have and the pressures they don’t. Their sense of importance. The satisfactions of their work. I imagine how fulfilled they are, and how rich their life is. In these moments, I feel empty and wanting.