Loneliness Permeates My Being

I grasp everywhere for some type of balance. I look this way and that. Will I find solace in my phone scrolling for hours? On the next swipe will I finally find the relief I seek or will I keep going until I can finally justify shutting my eyes in bed.

Can others see the loneliness I try to hide so well?

When everyone is talking about friends and family can they see my eyes dart around uncomfortably?

When people talk about death can they see I have been ravaged by it? Can they feel it when I hold my breath?

The reason I seek to be close to people who are hurting is that I am one too. I am one of those hopeless addicts that found a way out, but I still feel called back every so often.

I may look normal, but as always inside I feel different. I feel like I am a few steps behind like I didn’t get the memo and I’ve always felt that way.

I hear nice words said to me and fight to believe they are not lies.

The only comfort I find is when I can wrap my arms around myself in bed surrounded by the warmth and comfort of blankies and stuffies. I am a small child in a woman’s body frantic for the love she needed way back when.

How does it feel to be so self-assured? To have people you can call on that you don’t believe are lying to you?

The grief and loss are insurmountable and yet I have a strong desire to move from it as if it were a burning building. I keep myself close to being engulfed in the flames, but far enough away that I don’t get fully scathed.

I beg for mercy, but too quietly. I remain tough and frigid. No one knows where to find me underneath the rubble.