There are 8 billion people singing, laughing, dancing, speaking, fighting, loving, dying, breathing on this earth. Each second that passes by the cry of a newborn child pierces the air, and the last breath of another is expelled, dissolving into little particles that flow across the atmosphere like water in a river. There are 8 billion people alive and on this planet right now, and yet some of us feel as if we’re the only ones here. It’s not isolation, at least I don’t think so. Isolation would require knowing that people are all around you, and locking them out anyway. Loneliness… Loneliness is locking yourself out unwillingly— and not realizing that there are people around you. At the end of it all, loneliness hurts more.
Loneliness hurts like a plunged knife in the lungs, or running out of water on a hot day. Loneliness is the kind of heartbreak that never truly mends, because once you know what it feels like to be truly alone, that pit it creates in your stomach can never be filled. How heartbreaking is that, knowing that there are people all around you somewhere far back in your head, but not recognizing it when you need it most? How tragic is it to not have an answer to why you’re feeling this way? To feel like an idiot, a useless and blundering waste? There’s no answer to it, at least not one that’s tangible, one that will satisfy the people who are around you. There is not an answer that can do anything but hurt people.
I’m lonely because I feel like you’re not here. I’m lonely because I don’t think your company is adding to my life today. I’m lonely because I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m lonely because I can’t recognize my face in the mirror if I look at it for too long. I’m lonely because life isn’t going according to plan, and I’ve always been the type to follow the agenda. I am lonely because I’m experiencing these emotions I’ve never grappled with before, and I can’t get them under control. I’m lonely because every piece of me feels like the finest sand slipping through the gaps in the grate, each grain practically melting into the sewage. I feel like shit.
That’s why I’m lonely. Because I feel like shit.
But that won’t make things better, won’t it? Telling someone you adore, someone that adores you, that you feel like shit. That will get you nowhere. And that person will wonder why they couldn’t make you feel like you’re enough. They’ll try to fill the gap in your being that only you can fill. All they’ll do by shoving themselves down your throat in an attempt to fix you, is create a blockage, like plaque in your veins. And that stops the blood flow to your heart, and eventually you’re frozen in time, dying.
But the real question is: would you rather be lonely, or die trying to fix it?
Written March 2022.