Loneliness.

I’m drowning in it.

What do we actually mean when we say we’re lonely?

Is it about the number of people in the room? The number of people you’ve spoken to that day? Or maybe how many people make up your support network?

So many people try to reassure me by saying I’m not alone, that I have so many loved ones around me supporting me. But that’s not what I mean. Not really.

When you say you feel alone, the number of people around you becomes irrelevant. You can be standing in a room surrounded by smiling faces. A supportive hand on your shoulder. People who care. But inside, deep within you, there’s nothing.

Just emptiness.

Like a huge wave of darkness has blanketed your entire existence. There’s no light there. No one in that dark place. No one but you.

I’ve been going back and forth on whether to write this post. It’s been one of the hardest ones yet. I’ve started writing how I’m feeling, then deleting it. Then starting again. Over and over. I’m still not sure about it, even now.

I’m not even sure why. I’ve written difficult posts before. But this one hits differently. Maybe it’s because when I write it down, I have to face it. I have to admit something I keep trying to avoid.

That this isn’t okay. That right now, I’m really not okay.

Of course I know I have loved ones who help me every single day. And yes, I will keep fighting through this. But sometimes it’s just so overwhelming.

Lately I find myself shutting down. The urge to lock myself in a room, close the blinds, and curl up in a ball feels harder and harder to resist.

I don’t want to tell people I’m “fine”. I don’t want to say I’m plodding on and pretend everything is okay. But I also don’t want to explain it all either.

Why do you feel like this? What’s been getting to you? What will help?

People ask because they care. I know that and I cherish them for it. But the truth is, I don’t have the answers.

Most of the time it feels like I can’t breathe. The air feels thin. My chest is tight and I can’t pull in a full breath. I know what it is, of course.

Anxiety.

Gripping me from somewhere deep inside. A constant reminder that everything feels like it’s crumbling around me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I’ve barely slept for weeks. A few hours a night at best. Sometimes none at all. And for someone like me, that’s a recipe for disaster.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cried myself to sleep out of sheer exhaustion. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve just cried.

The moment I’m alone and think no one can hear me, it all comes out. I cry like I never have before. To the point where I’m scared I won’t be able to stop. And yet when I’m around everyone else, I’m holding it all in. Like I’ve trained myself not to let it out. The truth is…I can’t seem to stop.

Lately there’s another thought that keeps circling my mind.

Maybe I deserve this.

I question every decision I’ve made. I second-guess every step I take. I start wondering if there’s a reason life keeps throwing these curveballs my way.

It often feels like there’s an expectation that I’ll keep looking for the positives. That I’ll keep pushing forward. That I’ll keep smiling. But sometimes you just can’t. Sometimes you can’t smile and say everything will be okay. Sometimes all you can feel is that bottomless pit of loneliness, even when you’re sitting in a room full of people who love you.

“You’ve got so much to look forward to.”
“You’ve come such a long way.”
“You’re so strong.”

I could write a long list of the things my favourite people would say to me right now. And I know they mean every word. But it doesn’t change how I feel. It doesn’t fix me. It doesn’t suddenly put a spring in my step and make the world feel full of sunshine again.

It just doesn’t.

Sometimes it still never feels like enough. I find myself wondering whether some people would still be here if I weren’t this way.

Do people stay because they care? Or because they feel sorry for me?

The urge to self-sabotage isn’t far behind. Ready to shut out anyone who gets too close. Ready to shut out the world around me. And then that sense of being a burden starts creeping back in. 

So who do I talk to about all of this? 

No one.

Instead I push it so far down. Adding it to the already tightly packed pile of bottled-up feelings inside me. The pile is so high now that it feels like it’s starting to spill over. 

I notice it in the moments where I have to fight back tears during get-togethers until it physically hurts. I notice it in every smile that should feel genuine but somehow doesn’t. I feel it in almost every waking moment. Like I’m bursting at the seams trying to hold it all in.

I feel it.

I don’t even know if there’s an answer in this post. But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe this isn’t about reflection. Or finding a solution. Maybe sometimes you just have to admit that you’re having a hard week. Or two. Even if the only person you’re admitting it to is yourself.

It’s okay not to feel okay. But burying it so deep that even I can’t reach it anymore, that feels like the truly scary part.

So I guess I start here.

Writing this. Saying it out loud. Even if it’s only to myself.

We’ve got to start somewhere. And somewhere is better than nowhere.