Sometimes when you try to separate fact from the fiction inside your head, you can’t tell which is which.
Stream of consciousness rant below:
Can you be lonely in a crowded room, surrounded by people you don’t connect with? Can you be lonely after talking on the phone with your best friend for hours?
What about the times when you finish the latest season of a television show you were watching, and you sit in silence, remembering that those were not your friends, but rather fictional characters? You try to fill that ache in your heart with something else: a new show?
Why does swiping through Tinder make me feel even more alone?
Is it
Is it
Is it
Something real, if you’re surrounded by people?
What about a crowded subway train? A party?
When you’re lost in a book, are you in your own dreamworld, or the dreamworld of someone else’s imagination, thus not truly being alone?
Who or what do I need?
When your friends from the past make you feel even more alone, like conversation is meaningless. Everything is meaningless? No.
What about airports? Why do I feel less alone in an airport surrounded by strangers than I do in my own home, surrounded by relatives?
Can you be lonely while having a conversation with someone you enjoy spending time with?
Can you be lonely while walking in the woods, even though you don’t feel lonely, even though you’re by yourself?
Can you be lonely after spending time with other people all day long?
Is it just me? Can people tell?
Do my eyes go dark, or blank, or do I have an unintentional frown
When something in my mind out of nowhere tells me it’s the end, it’s time, for real this time, that’s when I can tell it’s not me. It’s the Monster.
Is the Monster separating me from people, too? I find myself getting angry for no reason, starting fights over nothing, refusing to trust people who I should trust, locking myself in a room by myself for hours, listening to the faint sound of wind chimes outside.
Sometimes, I sift through old photographs of forgotten people I used to love. I look at the faces of people I used to know, memories I used to have, and I wonder, do they remember me sometimes, or am I gone forever?
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Catching up on some posts.
We all have the Monster.
How we feed it determines us.
When I feel the “M”, I make a concerted effort to ask others about themselves.
This inevitably leads to one of 2 conclusions.
My problems aren’t as bad as John’s. Or…
Life is beautiful. Seeing the light in someone’s eyes as they tell you of the gifts( love, children, etc.) that they have been given is extremely powerful.