Sometimes It Hits Me Right In The Face Just How Lonely I Am. I Am So Lonely. Do You Know How It Feels?

Sometimes it hits me right in the face just how lonely I am. I am so lonely. Do you know how it feels? To exist in a world where you know that nobody knows you closely, not even a little bit? To know that if you died today, nobody would know what your favorite movie was or what your favorite song was or how you like your tea? Do you really know how it feels? To watch your friends spend their weekends together, laughing and going out, while you sit in your room rotting away? To eat dinner alone every lonesome night while you hear the echoes of your family in the dining room? I am isolated, so othered. It is not just that I am lonely. I no longer feel like a person, I feel as though I do not exist. Each day it feels as though I am being erased. I am the only one who can preserve me. I am the only one who can remember my favorite movie and my favorite song and how I like my tea. If I forget those details, they are gone. I exist only within the realm of myself. If I am removed from the equation, I do not exist. Do you understand? Do you really, truly get it?

I woke up the next morning. My pupils opened up toward the glow of the sun and I had lived to see another day. Just the night before, I had said my goodbyes. I had shed my last tear. I had made peace with my time in the world. But…my blood was still warm when I opened my eyes.

“You have been given another chance to live!” My sister wept. The words echoed in the back of my mind.

“But I don’t want to live.” I whispered. She never heard what I said.

I am more my father’s child than my mother’s daughter. I wish I could say the opposite, but it would not be true. I am clenched fists with nails digging into my skin. I am marked with scars inflicted by my own hands. I am shaking with anger. I have sharp teeth and I bite. If you tried to get close to me, I would run. I am my father’s child. I have his nose and his eyes and his anger that is too big for my heart to hold.

I could cry. I love my coach so much. I cherish her presence in my life. She is likely unaware of the ways in which she elevates my life, but she really means so much to me. I have never before felt like someone truly believed in me or saw me as being a strong, capable person. She believes those things about me. She makes me believe them too. It is so special to have a person like that in my life. Someone who holds me to a high standard, who gives me the space and guidance I need to rise to those higher levels. Someone who speaks to me warmly and looks me in the eye when she talks to me. Someone who humanizes me, who removes me from being an outsider and brings me in toward a family. I truly feel such a magnetic, deep love for her. I am so grateful for the fact that she’s been gifted to me, placed in my life. It’s moments like this where I think that maybe someone is watching out for me, maybe angels are real. Love is carrying me through, connections are guiding me toward a deeper joy.

I keep having this moment and it feels so light and airy and special. It feels like a sigh of relief, like that moment when you lay down in bed after a long day and feel your muscles exhale. Last year, on my way home for Christmas, I was begging my parents to get me help because I felt so suicidal and burdened with depression. This year, after a suicide attempt and long recovery, I finally feel happy. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but at some point, lightness slipped back into my mind and made its home there. I can’t help but be brought to tears at the beauty of it all. I’m still here. I’m still here. Against my will. I fought hard to leave and some part of me saved me. Something in me kept me alive and brought me to this moment. To this joy. To this peace. I am grateful for that now, though there was a point in my life where I wouldn’t have been. It is truly a miracle that I survived and I feel that in every molecule of my body.

I’m sorry for calling.

You know the sounds of the house late at night make me sick.

The creaking floorboards, the swoosh of the doors, the desolate silence, the all-consuming darkness.

Alone, alone, alone…I thought of you.

You didn’t answer the call.

I tell myself it’s okay. It’s okay.

I mother myself and you never answer.

Alone, alone, alone…