I feel unbearably lonely. Each day feels like it’s slipping away, with these fleeting moments when I reach out and find nothing but empty space. I find myself navigating through a world filled with people, yet there seems to be an insurmountable barrier between us.
My routines used to provide me comfort—making my morning coffee, the rhythm of daily duties, and playing the piano. All of these simple things seem empty now. The coffee is bland, the chores are tedious, and the piano, which was once a source of comfort, now feels like a hollow echo in an uncaring world. Gaming, which used to be an escape, now reinforces my solitude. The vibrant worlds and thrilling challenges no longer bring joy, just a reminder of the connections I lack in real life. Nature, once so refreshing, now seems as a beautiful sight just out of my grasp.
There’s a disconnect, even with friends. We meet, talk, and laugh, yet a part of me remains shut away, unreachable by anyone. They tell their stories—their highs and lows—and I nod, offering words of sympathy or congratulations. When it is my turn, though, I repress myself out of fear of pouring my intense loneliness on them. I feel more than their sympathy.
The internet only makes things worse. It’s like a cruel mirror, reflecting everyone else’s vibrant lives while emphasizing my own solitude. Sitting alone in my room, I look through pictures of joyful events, poignant posts, and impromptu travels. The more I see, the more distant I feel, as if I’m staring out a window that I can’t open.
It gets much worse at night. There is a deafening silence that serves as a constant reminder of all the talks and friendships that will never happen. I lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, the weight of my loneliness bearing down on me. My dreams are more vivid than my waking reality, and it leaves me feeling lost.
I try to find comfort in books, movies, and music. They make me forget for a little while. I lose myself in the words of authors who appear to get it, as well as in songs that reflect my silent grief. But then the story ends. The song fades. The screen darkens. I’m back to myself, greeted by loneliness like an unwelcome old friend who refuses to leave.
Reaching out seems futile. A call, a gesture, a message—all of them were greeted with halfhearted or silent responses. It feels like a huge effort to connect with people, so I tend to withdraw and prefer the comfort of being by myself to the painful reminder of my loneliness.
It’s hard to explain to those who ask how I am. They see the surface, the smiles, the small talk, and the seeming existence. But underneath, there’s a gaping hole that nothing seems to fill. I feel like this loneliness is now part of me, a shadow that follows me around. It lingers heavy in the pit of my stomach, creeping behind every interaction and whispering in the quiet times. The anguish is a relentless companion, a poignant reminder of the connections I yearn for but seem beyond my reach.
In the end, I’m left with my thoughts, my anxieties, and my silent desires. The world goes on around me, vibrant and full, while I remain on the outskirts, watching, waiting, and hoping for a change that seems out of grasp. This loneliness is like a weight on my shoulders, a veil I can’t lift, and a silence I can’t break. It’s my reality, my burden, and my unspoken truth.
