I am alone. Been alone for a long time now. I’m not referring to periods of loneliness, when your only contact with those you like or love is perhaps a fleeting hour at the bar on Fridays.
My “alone” is one happy hour at the bar being a highlight of the month. Two months.
Social media… amplifies my loneliness. Always reminds me of my loneliness. Its benefits have become a thing of the past, tipping that 51-49 scale the other way.
I do not consider texting and messaging as “contact,” any more than I would consider a telegram replacing a handshake or a smile.
I have done so many things completely on my own… probably more so than most people. Several times, gone to live far away where I knew no one. But I was relatively unscarred then, and it was my choice – loneliness as a temporary by-product of excitement and adventure. It’s different when there are people you’d like to be around, a woman whom you’d really like to be with.
Months, years go by… and I begin trying to permanently imbed the touches, the smell of perfume, the embraces, the holding of hands in my mind. That’s all I have, and I’m terrified of forgetting what that felt like.
My favorite cashiers and clerks are even gone now; in this new town, the cashiers and clerks seem to be as sketchy as their customers. I am allowed to drive to the store – really, I can drive anywhere – and on my way home look at all the quietness; I have rarely seen children playing outside.
The only thing worse than rejection is being alone; and those two are linked. Loneliness becomes a constant, taunting, ironic companion. It is bewildering; a pinnacle of frustration. Being alone is agonizing. Loneliness marks you like a cattle brand.
Loneliness is a killer.
– Steve Stav
