Alone no more

Have you ever had one of those days where everything just feels... neutral? It’s not exactly bad, not exactly good—just an overwhelming sense of grey, as though life has muted itself. I’ve been here for a while now, caught in this void, and I’m not sure how to get out. It’s like I’ve been waiting—no, longing—for something, or maybe someone. Someone I haven’t spoken to in what feels like forever. The feeling hangs over me like a shadow, like a question I’m afraid to answer.

I’m going through this anxious phase—there’s no better way to put it. It’s strange because I want to break out of it. I want to do something that snaps me out of this numbness, but every time I think I’ve gathered the courage, something stops me. It’s as if I’m paralyzed by this overwhelming sense of what if? What if I try and nothing changes? What if this is just how it is?

Today, though, I did something different. I was at my lowest, so I figured I might as well go for it. I took a step forward, not entirely sure where I was going or what I was looking for, but I went anyway. It’s funny how sometimes, in the smallest moments, we find exactly what we didn’t know we needed.

I met someone—a stranger. Someone I don’t know much about. We talked for a while, and it wasn’t anything particularly deep or significant. But at the end of the conversation, she looked at me and asked, “How are you doing?” That simple question, one I’ve probably heard a thousand times in my life, hit differently this time. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way she said them, the tone, the sincerity. It felt like for the first time in a long time, someone saw me.

For a moment, I couldn’t even respond. It was like my mind went blank, and all the emotions I’d been bottling up surged to the surface. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to explain the weight of the loneliness, the anxious thoughts that keep me up at night, the sadness that’s settled in my bones. But instead, I just sat there, numb. Isn’t that the strangest part? Even when you’re desperate for someone to ask how you’re doing, when they finally do, you can’t bring yourself to let the truth spill out.

I’ve been carrying this feeling of isolation for so long that when someone finally cracked the door open, I wasn’t sure how to walk through. I stayed quiet, even though my heart was screaming for connection. And then, just like that, the moment passed. She left, and I was alone again. Except now, I had this strange warmth inside me, this odd sense of comfort. But it was paired with regret, too, because I wished I had shared more. I wished I had let her in.

I keep thinking about her now, that stranger who, in just a few words, made me feel like I mattered. It’s not something I’m used to. I wanted to thank her, to somehow let her know what that small moment meant to me. But she’s gone. Just another fleeting presence in this vast sea of life.

It reminds me of something Johnny Depp once said—something about how tears don’t come from weakness, but from having endured for too long. I think that’s why I feel so close to breaking down all the time. It’s not that I’m weak; it’s that I’ve been holding it together for far too long. And now, it feels like everything is unravelling at once.

I don’t know where to go from here. This grey space I’ve been living in—it’s suffocating, but at the same time, it’s familiar. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to let go of it. There’s comfort in the known, even when the known is loneliness. But now, I’m starting to wonder if I want more. If I deserve more. That stranger, in her simple question, made me feel like maybe I do.

I wish I could go back to that moment and answer honestly. I wish I could let down the walls and admit that I’m not okay. But I didn’t, and now, it’s just me and my thoughts again. I’m left to sit in silence and wonder if there will ever be another moment like that again—another person who cares enough to ask. And maybe, just maybe, next time I’ll be brave enough to answer.