Loneliness vs being alone
This is an imaginary conversation inside the head of the protagonist with a person he believes to be his friend.
“You sound alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have family and some friends. Nope, not alone. Maybe, um…lonely.”
“What are you doing about it?”
“Nothing at all. I try to paint my face with a fake smile and put a peppiness in my voice, making others and myself believe that I’m fine. But today when I was staring at the mirror, the person staring back was not me. Empty might justify. He had lost what he always cherished—company.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know…it happened too fast, yet too slow. I can’t put it in words. I was happy and blessed. I used to enjoy stuff, drinking coffee, reading everything under the sun, listening to music, talking to people.
Eventually, every one of those things stopped. I started to change, staying alone deliberately. There was just one person I needed to be with, but that seemed almost impossible. I started liking it and hating it with the same intensity. But, I didn’t fight it. ”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s related to the people who leave you easily. They promise to be there with you forever, not realizing that forever means different things to different people. They give you hope, and you make it a beacon of light which guides you. Eventually, they find something else to focus on. Not that I blame them. I don't own their lives, and I don't want to enslave them. One day, they destroy your beacon and move on with their lives. It hurts, badly. There’s a touch of loneliness in my soul.”
“Your friends find you alive and cheerful. You give the best advice, they say.”
“They can’t look through my facade, a—”
“Tried to open up?”
“I want to…but I don’t want to. Someone has to listen, not just hear, really listen. Not be judgmental. I've become a listener because I didn't have many people who would listen to me growing up, or maybe I didn't try talking to them. I don't know. Sometimes people do listen, especially when I get too quiet. They try to fix me.
And if I talk about things I’m going through, they stop talking about their problems. They think twice before speaking the truth in front of me. What they don't realize is listening to their problems makes me forget my demons, even if it’s momentary.”
“If not your friends, your family? They can help you.”
“I’ve realized that my family completes my necessities and desires which give me pleasure and happiness. They are the backbone on which I can rely completely, through rain or sun. But the happiness and peace I seek are long gone. Buried deep within my soul, guarded by the demons of my life. I’m grateful to my family and they'll try to understand, but I know they won’t understand. No one does. If you did, you’d listen to me silently. You wouldn’t question back or ask more questions. You won't say that you're wrong. It's all in your head. Stop thinking negatively. Don't be over-dramatic. Or give your opinion till the end. That’s all I need. A person to really talk to, and cry in front of, if needed.”
“You always have me.”
“I do, but I don't. To be honest, from an outsider's perspective, I am a very lucky man, and have everything people wish for at this stage of my life. I don’t disagree or have any reasons to sulk, but I still do slowly trudge along on the road to nowhere, alone towards the cold, dead end.
I try to tell people who listen that it's not that I don't try. I try helping people. It's a part of who I am. People do not understand why I do what I do, and some of them behave weirdly. Sometimes, based on how their day has progressed, they say horrible things, things I wouldn't say to my worst enemy on my worst day. I've grown immune to it, don’t care anymore to what they’ve to say. I care about my happiness. If I find momentary happiness by helping people in a way they need it, what’s wrong about it?”
“I’m listening.”
“Sometimes I think, why am I doing all of this. Maybe I was meant to, maybe I wasn't . Some days I wish that someone point a gun at me. I know I won’t feel scared or beg to spare my life. I’m afraid of committing suicide; afraid of disappointing my family, but I would happily let that person pull the trigger for the umpteenth time, until I collapse on the ground with a smile on my face, thanking him for freeing me from this dungeon and hoping that both of us find solace - he in this world, and me in the other ."
P.S: This article is based on a blog-post I read.
“You sound alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have family and some friends. Nope, not alone. Maybe, um…lonely.”
“What are you doing about it?”
“Nothing at all. I try to paint my face with a fake smile and put a peppiness in my voice, making others and myself believe that I’m fine. But today when I was staring at the mirror, the person staring back was not me. Empty might justify. He had lost what he always cherished—company.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know…it happened too fast, yet too slow. I can’t put it in words. I was happy and blessed. I used to enjoy stuff, drinking coffee, reading everything under the sun, listening to music, talking to people.
Eventually, every one of those things stopped. I started to change, staying alone deliberately. There was just one person I needed to be with, but that seemed almost impossible. I started liking it and hating it with the same intensity. But, I didn’t fight it. ”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s related to the people who leave you easily. They promise to be there with you forever, not realizing that forever means different things to different people. They give you hope, and you make it a beacon of light which guides you. Eventually, they find something else to focus on. Not that I blame them. I don't own their lives, and I don't want to enslave them. One day, they destroy your beacon and move on with their lives. It hurts, badly. There’s a touch of loneliness in my soul.”
“Your friends find you alive and cheerful. You give the best advice, they say.”
“They can’t look through my facade, a—”
“Tried to open up?”
“I want to…but I don’t want to. Someone has to listen, not just hear, really listen. Not be judgmental. I've become a listener because I didn't have many people who would listen to me growing up, or maybe I didn't try talking to them. I don't know. Sometimes people do listen, especially when I get too quiet. They try to fix me.
And if I talk about things I’m going through, they stop talking about their problems. They think twice before speaking the truth in front of me. What they don't realize is listening to their problems makes me forget my demons, even if it’s momentary.”
“If not your friends, your family? They can help you.”
“I’ve realized that my family completes my necessities and desires which give me pleasure and happiness. They are the backbone on which I can rely completely, through rain or sun. But the happiness and peace I seek are long gone. Buried deep within my soul, guarded by the demons of my life. I’m grateful to my family and they'll try to understand, but I know they won’t understand. No one does. If you did, you’d listen to me silently. You wouldn’t question back or ask more questions. You won't say that you're wrong. It's all in your head. Stop thinking negatively. Don't be over-dramatic. Or give your opinion till the end. That’s all I need. A person to really talk to, and cry in front of, if needed.”
“You always have me.”
“I do, but I don't. To be honest, from an outsider's perspective, I am a very lucky man, and have everything people wish for at this stage of my life. I don’t disagree or have any reasons to sulk, but I still do slowly trudge along on the road to nowhere, alone towards the cold, dead end.
I try to tell people who listen that it's not that I don't try. I try helping people. It's a part of who I am. People do not understand why I do what I do, and some of them behave weirdly. Sometimes, based on how their day has progressed, they say horrible things, things I wouldn't say to my worst enemy on my worst day. I've grown immune to it, don’t care anymore to what they’ve to say. I care about my happiness. If I find momentary happiness by helping people in a way they need it, what’s wrong about it?”
“I’m listening.”
“Sometimes I think, why am I doing all of this. Maybe I was meant to, maybe I wasn't . Some days I wish that someone point a gun at me. I know I won’t feel scared or beg to spare my life. I’m afraid of committing suicide; afraid of disappointing my family, but I would happily let that person pull the trigger for the umpteenth time, until I collapse on the ground with a smile on my face, thanking him for freeing me from this dungeon and hoping that both of us find solace - he in this world, and me in the other ."
P.S: This article is based on a blog-post I read.
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