When Loneliness Becomes a Second Skin

When Loneliness Becomes a Second Skin

Sometimes I lay in my bed and stare at a blank sheet of paper, not knowing what to write or how to get my feelings out.

Loneliness sits there right beside me, whispering into my ears. “You’ll always have me. You’ll have many friends, but I will always be the one here with you. You’ll never feel seen, you’ll never feel heard. You’ll check up on them, but they’ll never check up on you.”

I’ll binge-watch YouTube Shorts for hours on end because I don’t know what to do with my life. I’d want to read, but wouldn’t because it simply felt like too much energy.

Energy that I didn’t have.

It all started on a Thursday night.

My phone laid on my desk, facedown while I waited for a reply.

I sent her practically a whole page of text.

One sentence in a response.

Even before I got the response, I was crying.

I knew it was over.

My mother held me in her arms.

I hadn’t cried in my mother’s arms since two years prior, when I cried about the same person.

Except that time, it was happy. I was finally able to see her after being separated for a year.

Where did we go wrong?

My best friend left.

I’ve wanted to text her about nothing and everything multiple times, but was reminded by the fact that we were no longer friends when I saw the text.

She hurt me and left a huge gap where she used to reside in my heart.

I act happy. It’s easier than having to show my emotions.

Cover it up. Mask your face. Make it one of those drama “Happy and Sad” masks. I don’t get to show my sadness. It doesn’t deserve to be exposed.

Not like they’d care anyways. I’m the one who takes care of others. Nobody is there to take care of me. They don’t care if you’re sad. They don’t care if you’re mad. They don’t care if you’re filled with emptiness and just need someone to be there for you.

They’re only there when you’re there to make them feel better.

The embrace of a mother is unlike that of any other embrace you will ever have in your life.

She’s the one place you’ll always feel safe.

She’s been with you since the beginning, after all.

But what would you do when the day comes when that one guaranteed safe place eventually departs?

That’s what I think about every day.

My parents don’t get to see how I’m feeling.

I stay up for hours on end just because I don’t want to wake up the next morning to feel the same crushing loneliness the second I wake up. The late hours of the night and early hours of the morning are my friends.

My best friend left.

And now nobody bears the title of being my BEST friend.

Z likes M, so M is more important than me, even though I’ve known Z longer.

A has N, and though I love them both as friends, I’d never match the same level of friendship they do. I’d be the third-wheeler. If I were to become one of their best friends, it wouldn’t be the same.

Others don’t talk with me as much. They aren’t main people in my friend group.

Everyone has someone to trust with anything and everything.

Except me.

Funny thing is, I never thought I’d lose T.

She was the other half of me.

Loneliness whispered into my ear once more.

“You don’t need them. You have me.”

I shook my head as a tear silently rolled down my cheek.

“I’m the only reliable thing you’ll ever have. No matter how many friends you have, I’ll always drown that out. They’ll never see you. Never hear you.”

When I have the energy, I immerse myself in books now, just to get away from the stifling reality.

But only when I have the energy.

It’s usually romance, reminding me that I’m also alone in that category as well.

It makes me feel worse in the end, actually. It makes me feel even more alone.

But that’s fine, because at least I have that small bit of happiness when I’m in those worlds.

Cry.

Sob.

Scream in rage.

I don’t know how to do any of that any more.

It all left with you.

You were my whole world. 

The one safe person to go to without the judgement of parents, or the judgement of friends who weren’t as close.

We’d talk about the most random stuff and make inside jokes about it.

We’d sit there on call in silence, yet it’d feel like every word was spoken clearly.

We understood each other.

I don’t know what to do with myself.

Everyone has a best friend now except me.

The closest runner-up would be V.

But she goes to a different school.

Texts became dry.

They became less frequent.

Then the bombshell was dropped on me.

I already knew.

That’s the good part of overthinking and being insecure.

You always assume and predict the worst.

At a certain point, you expect it and it doesn’t even faze you.

Nobody in my life was I able to talk to in the way I did with her.

A friendship thrown away over politics.

I don’t even understand politics.

We became friends in the fourth grade.

And she threw it away because we had different opinions.

Now I expect the worst out of everyone.

Even R.

R especially, actually. He’s the first one I loved after E.

And I’m terrified I’m going to fuck it up.

Sadness now sits beside me. Her gentle voice whispers while her fingers gently brush my heart. “Let’s feel this together. I’ll come at the most unexpected times. You’ll be fine, then you’ll break down in front of your friends. That’s what I do to you. It’s your payment for always having me.”

Not like I want sadness to be there with me, but okay.

I feel like my best friend right now is Pebbles.

My fucking dog.

That’s a very sad thing to admit, now that I think about it.

I love my dog, don’t get me wrong,

But I’d kind of like a human best friend.

I wish life would be easy on me.

The experience now reminds me of older history.

One I thought I’d eventually heal from.

Life just decided to completely kill me and say “fuck you” when I was eight, too.

It all started when both of my grandmas and one of my dogs died.

All in the same year.

Back to back.

The grandma on my mother’s side was like a best friend to me, and was a primary caretaker.

The other was just that, a grandma who cared and loved me.

Then they were gone.

So now I lie awake at 2:30 am, planning to stay up all night.

Writing onto a document the feelings I haven’t been able to talk about with others.

Writing is my creativity. Writing is my outlet. Writing is my art. Writing is my safe place.

Maybe someone can relate to me.

I don’t know.

Here's what happened. All over the place, yes. But life is messy, and writing can be, too. Just when life starts getting good, life decides to crush you just to laugh at you while you struggle to get up after too many falls and broken mental bones.

It’s sad how I came to this. Sometimes I even wonder why I’m here.

I keep going because I think of my friends whenever I get super upset. If something were to happen to me, they’d miss me, right? At least the female ones would. 

Most of the males, I wouldn’t be so sure.

This is exactly what happens when your loneliness becomes a second skin to you. You expect life to stay like this forever and ever and ever. Maybe one day, it’ll get better.