Whos Loneliness Is Up Manifesting Itself As A Prolonged, Deep Pain In Their Chest?

Who’s loneliness is up manifesting itself as a prolonged, deep pain in their chest?

Every single month I am like “wow why am I going insane? I actually want to k*ll myself. I cannot be alive. I cannot do anything. I am the loneliest person in the entire universe.” And then I look at my tracker and it’s like “period in 1 day”

you laugh and I laugh and it is holy. to me this is religious, this joyous energy that exists between your body and mine. I want it, I crave it, it lifts me up, it gets me high. I raise my hands up to the sky and praise whoever created you each time I see your haunting smile. we sit and we talk and your knee is touching mine. I do not move and you do not move because we are friends. you are my friend. except…I move a little closer. I want more, I need more, I feel the pull and I cannot resist. I am sorry, I always want more.

My heart shudders as you mention your ex. Your ex boyfriend, you say. I still have hope. Some people like both. But part of me knows: you will never see me that way. When you told me, I was looking at your lips. Not looking—longing at them, desiring at them. I want them. I want your lips, I want your flesh, I want you. I force myself to look away. Where else can I look? It can’t be you. It can’t be at you. Every part of you makes me want you the same. I leave the room slowly. I can’t ever be near you again. I am sorry, my dearest friend. I wish I could hear you talking without looking at your lips. I wish I could be your friend without wanting your kiss.

Love is consumption. Love devours. Love eats. The allure of someone takes up my entire life, fills in all of the empty space and clears out what was already there too. I do not see anyone, I see the object of my desire. I want, I want, I want. It takes so much out of me. Desire, for me, is enormous. It hurts. I stop breathing. My heart pumps blood more slowly. Love takes over my body like some sort of parasite. It takes and takes and takes until I am empty, dissolving into nothing.

I used to be a good ghost. I knew how to become invisible. I did well occupying empty corners, nodding but never uttering a word in the midst of lively conversation. I understood what it meant to sit back quietly, to watch the world unfold around me but to have no part in its unfolding. I am not as good at it now. I am angry. I am sad. I am hungry. I want to stand in the middle of the room, I want to join in the conversation. I want to force them to be aware of the sound of my voice. I want them to have to look me in the eye. I want to be seen. I am not a good ghost.