Alone

“Water water everywhere but not a drop to drink.”

This is pretty much how I feel in college these days. I thought talking to a lot of people would cure that big empty hole inside of me. But it didn’t. I don’t know why it did not do that. But it just didn’t happen. I guess I wanted it… some part of me, deep, deep down. It wanted to be.

Alone.

Being alone is a very subjective thing to be, in my very humble opinion. You are not understood by people you think would understand you the best. And even if they do, the time capsule they are in is just too different from the current in we live in. I guess that is why they say that two people living in the same era can be ages apart at times. And there is no better example for that than the very people we are supposed to love more than anything else in the world. Our parents.

I never knew I could fall this much into the depths of solitude as I am right now. I feel it more than ever now. I want to say these things to someone. I want them to understand… but I am afraid. Afraid that if I do that, it won’t do anything. Because it hasn’t ever done anything. You can’t go about being desperate to wanting to be understood. You can’t go about wanting to feel like there is someone out there. When in reality, it’s most likely a made-up tale.

Nobody cares. Nobody dares to care. I know those people exist, those who can easily devote a large boulder-sized part of their being to care. But the world doesn’t appreciate it that way. It’s a cycle no one tries to stop. Or when people try to stop, a lot of roadblocks come in the way. Sometimes I wish caring was just a very easy thing to do. Not some overly convoluted, selfish-gain kind of thing. It would have been so nice. Just to care, not for selfish gains or any ulterior motives. Just for the sake of caring.

I used to do that a lot. People even noticed. They even told me I am too nice. But… I always told them otherwise, because I never felt that way inside. I just want to help people as much as I can. And if I end up liking a person too much, I end up sticking to them a lot more than I want to. It’s a thing I haven’t been able to let go of very easily. I think that’s because…. I am a purist. I don’t want caring to be for any cause in specific. But I always think that if I care for someone, they can help me too. Help me fill the hole I have inside me since I was a child.

That hole.

I don’t know when it grew so much. I thought it wasn’t there at first. Maybe I was just thinking it was there, when in fact it wasn’t there. I guess the hole was just… always waiting to be filled. But it never was. And what was left was this. A sullen boy who has to pretend to be normal for the sake of surviving outside. A boy with a whole lot of mood swings than is thought to be “normal”.

Normal.

A very… well, normal word. But I have never felt normal in a long, long time. If I am left alone, I spiral. If I am around people I spiral even more. So, I stay alone because then I spiral less. Spiralling is an inevitability at this point. I am done with a huge chunk of my studies at this point, but I suppose in the process I ended up… not changing myself at all. I stayed the same inside, the same sulky, cynical and well, angry guy inside. Angry at why things turned out the way they did. I know it’s my fault they turned out this way. No one else is to blame. But sometimes yeah, it would have been nice to just blame it on someone else. I broke friendships because of stupid misunderstandings, and many other things. I can’t reach out to old friends because I cannot relate to them anymore. I cannot talk to my own parents now because I wasn’t ever in the habit of doing that. I started it just a year back, and I guess by then it got too late? I have no idea where to go on from this point. I want to do a lot of things… and yeah, would sure as hell like to connect to someone on a deep level. I mean, who doesn’t want that? I bet everyone wants that one person they can talk to. I have a childhood friend of 15 years and I still can’t talk to him about that stuff. I tried, but he doesn’t get it. It’s not his fault really. I can’t blame anyone for my own condition. I brought it upon myself after all.

I am more stunned by how much at length I have managed to write about my own wrongdoings and internal suffering rather than the happy things in life. Maybe it goes to show just how much of a sore human being I have become. And despite all this, I hope. Hope to meet just someone who gets it. It feels like an impossibility right now. but maybe one day? I would sure as hell like that day when I meet just the person I want to open up to about everything.

Mom says I have a gift. That I can articulate my feelings well on paper. But I don’t feel like it is. Even worse, my constant need of validation from external sources is so strong that I my self-esteem is also low. I wish things were different. But wishing is not everything now, is it? I can write about this stuff for hours, and mind you, as I am typing this, I am sitting alone in my room, at 3 in the morning, without sleep, and having not talked to a single human being properly in a week. I mean, I talk to my neighbours here n there, but that’s just about it. I spend 90% of my time sitting alone in my room doing basically nothing at all. So I decided to spend every Sunday out alone, just to ease the burden. You know, the burden of feeling so alone you cannot talk to anybody. I just got to survive these five years then, I guess. And focus on the goals I have set for myself I guess. Because humans are a topic which are going to be way beyond the realm of my comprehension for an even longer amount of time in the foreseeable future.

I don’t know how to end this piece I have just written under an hour. With an hour long break of course. In which I did no work whatsoever on rewriting any draft. I suppose it’s because of, once again, my conceptions around the idea of purity. Un-adulteration, if you will. I don’t like making edits to what I write often. Feels like a lot of work, for one. And two, I don’t want to write for the sake of writing. I write with a lot of emotions behind every sentence. That sentence carries a part of me which I won’t be able to express out into the world. So those sentences are special. I feel like every writer, or composer, or musician, or any practitioner of the literary arts would agree with me on the part, the part about their works having a lot of emotions, their own souls being put into their creations. It is a theme repeated across many pieces of media, isn’t it?

So this is just like that, for me. I am writing to let someone out there know, if I ever decide to upload this, that I am very much, irredeemable. I feel like I cant get out of where I am right now. I feel like I will hurt people. I have hurt people in the past with my actions. I have made them go away. I cant cry. Because crying doesn’t come naturally to me.

Nothing comes naturally to me.

I don’t know where these emotions are coming from. Maybe they have always been there. I just never knew about them. I wish I did. I feel like I need help. But I am afraid of seeking help. I fear that my parents will just brush it aside. I recognise that feeling like this since you were a 7^(th) grader is not normal. So why did I normalise it? When did I normalise it? I don’t think it was the 7^(th) grade. No.

It had to have been later.

It feels good. Writing like this again. Despite what I said earlier, writing makes me feel at ease. I think I will indulge in my alone time now. Because people have failed me at this point. I think I need help. A lot of it. But I am also afraid that if I do that, will I loose all of… this? I know it’s rough, but I don’t feel like it’s all wrong, is it? Is feeling lonely wrong? When was it decided being lonely was a crime?

I don’t know.

Well, now that I am awake for this long, might as well keep going. I am writing whatever is coming to mind right now, and all of them are bad thoughts. I didn’t know I had them. I just thought I was a normal guy, who changed. I did change, but at some point, I changed back.

Why?

I don’t know.

When?

I don’t know.

For what?

I don’t know that either.

I just know I did. That I hate my life right now. I will change my outlook of course. But I wont be able to change a lot much besides that. I don’t have a strong emotional foundation. And the best thing? No one knows. That I might possibly be suffering from depression. I feel so empty inside I cannot describe it.

I just...... got here without knowing when it happened.