On Loneliness

I am tired. The night seems to come so early and the cold seeps through the floors. Two cats are my company, but I am alone. I don’t know why those words seem to sting. Perhaps I am still too new to coming home to empty rooms.

It’s not that I’ve never been alone before, I have, and it was in those moments where I remember being the happiest that I have ever been. But life took control. I loved him and I fought for her and I lost them both. The dagger sinks a little deeper every time I say it. Yet somewhere along the way of gathering and healing scars, I lost something about myself.

It is a beautiful and delicate thing to be happy all on your own. And that feeling, that power, can be lost so easily. I lost it. So many of us have lost it.

But no one ever talks about it.

I go to work and I work hard. It’s a trying job sometimes and I’m always moving around. It is when I come home that things become so still. No one passes me in the halls, no one asks me for anything, no one is there. I have things to do, books to write, characters to create and understand. Yet I feel lost. In my own apartment, with my cats and all these things of mine around me, I feel like I must schedule every second, hoping to fill my time and distract myself from the unease of moving about my home alone.

Loneliness is heavy and I don’t think we appreciate how deeply it drains us once we lose our love for it. You can try to describe it to the people around you, your parents, your friends, yourself. I’m lonely. I don’t think the depth of it is grasped so easily.

"You’ll meet someone else. It’s good for you. Enjoy it while you can. You’re so young."

I’m sorry for you, that’s what’d I say. I’m sorry you lost the joy of being alone.

I hope the energy returns to you, and the nights don’t feel so dark, and the carpets are just warm enough beneath your feet to cut the chill. I hope you figure out your book, I hope you’re happy doing it. I hope you understand one day that life is not so simple, not the way they say it is or pretend it will be. I hope you understand that I am talking about it. About this, this feeling, this “stage” of returning to a state of solitude that is ignored, yet such a pinnacle part of the process to finding happiness.

I won’t tell you that you’re not alone. You are. This is your loneliness. I don’t want to tell you to “own it” or to “be strong.” Be weak if you need to be. Be whatever you need to be. And just know, that the joy of being alone is achievable again.

I hope you get it back.