It is only for several hours, but the solitude feels like months; she is initially afraid, that she would crumble in the hands of desolation, for she does not think she could bear the pain that comes with it; the agony that it carries; the hurt that it contains. The loneliness starts to sink in, and she realizes that it is the only existence that is within her for she is her own company, the entirety of her to herself, her and hers alone.
She relents; she accepts the invitation of solitude and anxiously awaits the feeling to take over her body, her soul, her mind. She is ready. She fervently glares at her bare study desk and tucks her hair behind her ears, this is it, I am ready, I am ready. She closes her eyes and evocative images of the past start to transpire. A wuthering sorrow smears across her face, her brows furrowed, eyes still shut, and the vivid imageries of hollowness soon follow – the impending fear that she is perturbed about.
She capitulates to the feeling of emptiness, yields to her vacuous thoughts, yet vast with darkness. She delves deeper and lets the loneliness creep into her skin, her veins, her bones. She is letting loneliness in. Inside her. Her body shudders, she is fearful but she is determined, she is devoted, she is ready for it to happen. She burrows in further with her thoughts, reflecting on her past mistakes, reasoning with her present decisions, and ruminating on her future. It consumes her, it exhausts her, but she keeps going because she is determined, she is devoted. She contemplates about life itself, and humanity, and solitude. She is learning. She is still learning.
The feeling of torment is taking over – a palpable pain like a spear piercing through her chest, a knife cutting into her heart. She has had this feeling many times before, and every time it happens, she succumbs to it. She feels encapsulated as if the four walls are silencing her voice, no matter how hard she screams, no matter how loud she yells. Alas, even with a voice, no one is able to hear her, because she is alone, she is silencing herself. But this time, she is determined, she is devoted. She will not be held captive by her own demons, she persists. Instead, she is the playmate that visits once in a while; she is the one in control. She decides when she pays a visit and when she lets those looming thoughts come to her. It may consume her, it may exhaust her, but it cannot control her. She is learning. She is still learning.
She is alone, but she is not lonely. She is alone because she wants solitude to happen. She is not lonely because she allows loneliness to happen. She feels braver than ever, prouder than ever, that she allows this feeling that was once unfamiliar to her be a part of her soul, a part of her mind, a part of her being. She feels braver than ever, prouder than ever, that she is able to embrace this feeling that is now a part of her body, a part of her feelings, a part of her heart. And she is braver than ever, prouder than ever, that she has control over her thoughts, over her voice, over her own demons.
She opens her eyes, and buries her face in her tentative hands and lets out a sigh of relief. Her solitude process is cathartic, almost therapeutic. She may not love herself fully yet, but she is learning, and that is okay. She is still learning and she knows she will be okay.