Wayward Thoughts: Loneliness

Being alone is often times something that brings me dread…

When nobody wakes you up in the morning… and nobody waits for you at night… and when you can do whatever you want… what will you call it? Freedom or Loneliness?

I sit within these four walls, merely existing in the veil of shadows that night brings simply trying to avoid the encroaching darkness as it tries to steal the little light that I clutch protectively within my hands. I feel tendrils clawing away at my mind. Hear the pervasive thoughts slithering through the crevices of my mind and slowly pull me beneath the surface where these cries for another cannot be heard. So I don’t bother trying to struggle. I just descend. Clinging to the hope held within one white knuckled fingers… while the other is outstretched hoping that someone will come to help.

The irony of the passage above is when I was truly by myself, I didn’t have a problem with being alone.

I hate that childhood traumas etches such a wound that the pain inflicted never really goes away. Even if the aches are subtle, they persist. And that any one thing, no matter how insignificant or remarkable can rip that scar open and leave bare flesh that introduces you to familiar pain. Pain that resounds and ripples like a wave of water; strong and vibrant or faint and subdued.

Lacking the love and attention by the ones I wanted it from the most seems to be a motif of mine. It something that plagues my mind every single day. A battle with myself to convince myself that I am enough. That I have worth and someone values me. But more importantly, I find comfort in knowing that that I had someone who wants me around. Someone who loves me enough to go the extra mile for me. Someone that when I feel like giving up, they would be there to help me keep going.

When I was kid, my mother practically lost me while trying to steal from a grocery store. Up until that point, I was really forced to learn how to do things on my own. She would leave me for hours during all times of the day and more often than not, wouldn’t return until the next day. I survived until I couldn’t and would call on my grandparents when things got really bad. They would come and pick me up and when my mother finally realized that I was gone, she would come to retrieve me.

I’ve always been a person who could occupy himself. Physically being alone was never a problem for me. I would like to say that I had too much of a vivid imagination to even realize that talking to my imaginary friends was a problem but considering I grew up to use those voices as characters in my stories, I think it worked out. As I said in my previous reflections of my life, anime and books were my escape and I could get lost in their worlds for hours.

But whenever I realize that I was actually alone. If I hurt myself. Or wanted to hug someone. Or need reassurance. Or became afraid, nervous, or anxious. I never found those things in my mind so I searched for it in the people who said they loved me. From everything I had read or watched, those who loved you were always there to pick you up. To support you. To tell you that everything was alright.

And she was never there.

Looking back on it, it is crazy to believe that I was so happy when she rung that doorbell and came and got me from my grandparents house. Twisted? Of course it was but it meant so much to me that she remembered me. Because to me, that confirmed that she did love me.

So it left me in pieces when my mother told me after I staged and executed an escape to find her after I hung out with my best friend that she chose her life on the streets over me. That drugs and whatever else she was doing out there was more important than being a mother to me.

It meant that every time I sat on the bottom of the stairs, waiting at the front door for her to arrive like she said… like she promised was for nothing… because in that moment… she made her choice and it wasn’t me.

It meant that every choice made was taking her further and further away from me. Every decision reaffirming what she said. Even when I begged and pleaded for her, she chose someone or something else.

It meant that every time she said “I love you”… it was a lie. Because how could you love someone… say those words that mean so much… and treat me like that?

And if person who gave birth to you, the being who gave you life didn’t love you… who would?


I have been haunted by that question ever since. Nearly twenty-five years alter and still being plague by the same childhood pain as if it happen yesterday. I am terrified by the idea that I won’t find someone who loves me or even worse, the one who I do fall in love with… won’t love me.

I lost some very important people in life over the last year and I realize that I may not be as well as I parade myself around to be. Logically, I am fine but emotionally, I am in shreds with the remnants bound in knots.

From losing my grandmother around this time last year to my best friend early this year and to all the others who I know who lost someone that they cherish dearly… it is really suffocating.

I’m looking out at the landscape of my life and I can’t see anything behind the fog of uncertainty. The veil is obscuring everything and it makes me anxious…. hands shaking unnervingly…

Seeking Reassurance

It is exhausting… having the kind of heart that melts for those who show that tiniest amount of love… planting those seeds in the hope that it takes root and blossoms not into everything you ever wanted, but something that you could simply live with. Draining, being asked to have patience and empathy while helping other heal when your soul desperately craves to be held and nurtured because it has been bruised and battered beyond recognition… hurt so many times that it doesn’t feel worth it to continue… unable to shake the feeling of doing all of this alone.

But To give up would mean to make everything you fought for…

Meaningless.

And yet it feels to comforting over there… so inviting… So easy to just put it all down.

But I could never let it become that. I wouldn’t recognize that man if I did.

So I clutch even tighter, carrying it in one hand while reaching out with the other…

Just a little bit farther…

Waiting for the day…

6 Comments Add yours

  1. Merlin says:

    This is one of those things that demands a response, but I have no idea what response to give. Perhaps… just a hug.

    1. Your response was more than enough. Thanks for the support! You have no idea what it means to me!

      1. Merlin says:

        You are quite welcome! 🙂

  2. moyatori says:

    I do not know how to attach gifs to comments, so please do me the favour of imagining a hug from me as well.

    And I also wanted to say: welcome back! I’ve missed reading your sincere and beautiful prose.

    1. I humbling accept your hug! Moya!!! It has been so long! Glad to be back! How have you been?

      1. moyatori says:

        I’ve been hella busy myself, so I’m not exactly in a place to welcome you back, haha. But it’s nice knowing that you’re around, and hopefully I’ll be back to blogging more frequently when I can.

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