Suddenly, alone?
Today I suddenly asked myself: what is loneliness for me?
Is it physically being alone in a room with no one? Do I feel lonely then?
Or is it when everybody leaves, leaving me behind?
Or maybe it’s cooking dinner for one or cooking for yourself in a house full of people.
Do other people feel the same way, or is it something different in me?
What is it, really?
Suddenly, a feeling of hurt started burning in my chest, painful words about not being friends, a childish outburst driven by fear, a wave of self-guilt and an emotional bombshell over the phone. All those feelings. Those little hurts. Isn’t it always like that?
We keep a smiley face on when we see each other, not to burden, not to feel ashamed, not to appear as a failure or an outcast. Isn’t it funny that sometimes we forget to take off the mask even around the people we love? Especially around loved ones, I try to keep my mask on. Maybe not the first layer, but definitely the second. It feels like concrete stuck to my mind: don’t show it, don’t make them worry, don’t break, no weakness.
It’s silly, the opposite of logic, because the closest ones should know us best. But isn’t it human to distance ourselves from the ones who love us most?
Those little hurts and laughs.
Becoming echoes in my mind.
How can I protect myself and still be kind?
How can I show that they hurt me without hearing the same old, “You’re too sensitive, too much,” followed by an I’m sorry that changes nothing underneath?
How does one process the hurt caused by loved ones and move on?
Do you always have to leave behind the ones you love, just because they hurt you?
If only I could scream how a few small words cut so deep that they mattered to me, and I wanted you to care too.
Does my love and friendship mean so little to you that you’re okay with losing it?
How much love is enough? I’ve never really known.
They told me my love is suffocating and sharp like a knife.
Some say it’s warm like a berry pie and a child’s laugh.
So what is mine?
And how does one love and still move on from the hurt?
The worst part is, no matter the advice, analysis, or endless talks, the truth remains: I just wasn’t chosen.
Not chosen to be respected, treasured, or even cared for enough.
It feels like an open wound.
And I guess that’s my dramatic point: that oversensitivity is a two-edged sword.
I think loneliness for me is feeling out of place in a room full of people, not being able to talk with those I share blood with, being a safe option, and not trusting my vulnerability with those I care for.
