I Don’t Know What It Feels Like To Not Be Lonely

My loneliness is eating me up and it scares me to no end.

I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Usually I can ignore my emotions, keep it all in a bottle and put a tight cap on it. But that’s the problem with bottling up your feelings, it only takes that one last trigger for it to finally overflow. Even a single escaped drop can break the toughest of walls and unleash a mighty flood gate of pain, guilt, self-loathing, resentment, sadness… and whatever else negative emotion you can think of.

“Forever alone.” We see it all the time on the internet, joke about it, and use it in the lightest of contexts. But what we often don’t realize is the darkness it holds. I dread to think of a future in where I grow old alone. I don’t want that for me. I yearn for that love that only one person — whether he be the one for right now, or The One — can give.

For the past few hours, I have been an emotional wrecking ball (hello, Miley Cyrus) with nothing and no one to destroy but myself. Tears were undeniably shed during my time of brief reflection. Unwanted memories came rushing back like waves on a sea shore knocking the breath out of my lungs. Seriously, have you ever had an honest-to-God good cry? Three words: HARD. TO. BREATHE.

But all lame attempts of humor aside, “WHY?”

Why am I so alone? Why do I feel so alone? A big part of it is maybe in the way I grew up. Or rather, in the environment that I grew up in. I didn’t have that nice childhood that I always secretly hoped for, even when I knew it was too late. Only a handful of people know that I was physically and emotionally abused by, first, my dad which then later became both my mom and my dad. It started when I was 7 years old… and it was my own personal hell. I saw the harsh reality of the world from an early age. And as the years progressed, it was just a series of unfortunate events from bullies, to fake friends, to bulimia, to a rape scare, etc. etc.

It was hell at home, and it was hell outside of home. I trusted no one, because I knew they would leave or betray me somehow. When that betrayal comes first from your parents, your own blood… trusting anyone after them is pretty much a lost cause. At least that was how it felt for me. I became angry to everyone and anyone, not letting a single soul in. I shut everyone out, whether they did something wrong to me or not. Misery became my company, and I know pain more than I know myself. I created a wall that only I knew about that kept everyone from a distance. I wore a mask that only I could see and it kept people from seeing how much of a mess I really was.

It has been ingrained in my mind as I was growing up that I was never good enough, that I don’t amount to anything and never would. My series of unfortunate events made me feel worthless — it still does. I brought myself down with so much self-hate that I forgot the way up.

Which brings us back to this sudden bout of loneliness that I’m feeling. It terrifies me that I might have no one else to blame but myself. I thought that I was done, I thought that I have moved on. But in reality, all I did was ignore my thoughts and pretend that I am okay. I am a walking contradiction. I want to be loved, but I constantly think that I am not worthy. I wish for someone to appreciate and accept me, but I can’t seem to trust those who do. I want for someone to get to know me… the real me, but who am I, really? Even I’m confused.

I look around and see people — happy people — and think to myself, “When will I ever be like them?” The yearning cuts deep like a knife. I don’t know how it is to be happy. It’s an emotion so foreign and complex for a person like myself, but I’m desperate to experience it. I mean, I know how to laugh and have fun. A funny thing will always be a funny thing. But to actually be happy? There is a big difference; a thin line, but a big difference.

I have met some pretty awesome individuals through the years. A lot came and went, but some stuck around. I guess they liked the “ME” that I showed, whoever that is. I showed the reactions that were expected of me, the emotions that were needed from me, and the “ME” that they wanted me to be. But at the end of the day, I go to my bedroom, take off my mask, lay on my bed, and let the emptiness in. It sucks to have that realization that this is what I’m used to, that I see solitary and isolation as comfort.

I want to bust out and break free. Despite all this negativity, I know that I have so much love to give. I think all of the “love” that I should have given myself has accumulated over the years, like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt, and I just can’t wait to have that someone to give it to.

Maybe I’m not ready? It seems like that with the way I’m writing. I need to work more on myself. Clearly, I still have some major issues (more of which I didn’t even write). I will keep trying to find that way back up, though. I will work on myself and be better, healthier. And when I do, please, be there.

I can wait to meet you, whoever you are.

But until then, I’m lonely.