Back to Being Alone

Gaming alone, walking alone, watching cartoons alone, eating alone, studying alone, exploring alone, drinking at coffee shops alone, discovering new music alone, practicing alone… I could go on.

I did manage to join a tabletop group that meets once a week, however participant attendance is sporadic. I guess that isn’t totally bad, but it’s harder to feel comfortable seeing different faces every 7 days.

I’m both familiarly comfortable and agonisingly uncomfortable in my solitude. I get to do what I feel like on a whim, but I’ve not a soul to share anything with.

I don’t talk anymore. Days go by and I sort of forget what my voice sounds like. There’s no one to listen to either. No one to offer questions, or hear anecdotes from. There’s a constant deafening sensation in my head, almost as if there’s an endless ear piercing scream. Who knew silence was so loud.

I don’t smile anymore, aside from those obligatory eery gestures of politeness in brief moments of hooman interaction. I’m completely void of laughter too. Humour feels like an elusive mirage.

Am I having fun? I can’t feel fun. I can’t feel joy. Do things, go places, meet people. But is any of it fun? No. Not for me. Filling wedges of time between now and then.

My brain slumps in the back, juttering to the distorted chords bellowing about my ears. Sad music. Sad music for a sad girl. Mildly comforting. Swallowed up by melancholy voices that seem to get just how I feel. Blurs the world with static to escape just for the moment. Invisible to the sea of creatures engaged in daily life. Through tunnels in my mind, safe inside the sounds of crumbling ashes.

Alone once again, another wounding blow. Desperate to retreat behind the safety of the blade.

Burning in my chest that just won’t leave me for a instant. The only time it doesn’t ache, is when I lose consciousness to sleep.

Slow uneven inhales catching on scars lay with my rib cage. Tears escaping publicly, absent of the wailing stuck within my narrowed throat.