“I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be this lonely because it seems catastrophic.”
I feel certain it’s me, with nothing to latch onto. While there’s just that one hand – but, still there’s nothing to latch onto, I wouldn’t want to be a parasite to this hand. The world that I survive in is cold, and cuts into me; then dresses the wound and tears it open, again and again and again.
It’s not even the conventional word, but a naked terror.
I’d often feel the stinging stab of loneliness. The water I drink, the food I nibble – they’d feel like needles pinching me, more often than not – even the pages of a book I was reading would threateningly gleam like razor blades.
“… there’s a difference between having no one because you’ve chosen it and having no one because everyone has been taken away.”
― Mr. Fox
While I’d agree that often this solitude, being alone did indeed feel good; but, it never felt right. While I am learning my way around it and mapping it, it feels like a human experience – where we realize others aren’t our scratching posts for us, nor do they owe us their company or themselves.
“God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of “parties” with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter – they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship – but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
This feeling runs deep and is rather scary, almost catastrophic! It’d seem I am lonely in some horrible way. While a fire burns me, all people see in a wisp of smoke! There’s a loneliness that one can see between the hands of the clock as they move.
It’s a helpless feeling, to feel this way.