Those Episodes

Overpowering Loneliness

It has been here for days on end, a shadow that encompasses my whole being—that the soul is maimed by unease, while the mind is embroiled in a severe choleric state. Everything around me appears hazy: I drag myself out of bed every 2:45 AM, all in cognizance of the fact that I shall be going to work once more. I prepare myself, get my breakfast over with, try to boil water so as I could be filled even with a trickle of an essence of comfort, take my fill of my daily coffee grind, and embellish myself with a warm bath. Then I saunter out the house at the earliest time possible, quickly as my feet would take me at 4:15 AM then position myself at the corner of crossroads a few blocks from our house in time for the 4:30 bus. Then it arrives with a swoosh of its automatic door, outward, just so to let me in as I behold rows of almost empty chairs with some populated by a handful. As I sit down in the midst of everyone, with nay a soul next to me in my row, I look outside as I behold the darkness—noir—enveloping each and every house in the horizon, as the bus straddles its way through expanses of land. I take a glance outside: the blackness of burgeoning dawn. Then thoughts seep in as I crouch, in solitude, against the humming of engine and airconditioning, and the chill pushing itself against flesh and its crevices.

The Loneliness Creeps In

Mostly, I try to figure out where the loneliness emanates from, how it forms itself, how it tries to overcome my whole being. I would feel really out of place, lethargic even. My senses become clouded, my thoughts blurred; and I would feel utterly undermined by the very fact of my melancholia. Oftentimes I would end up staring into blank space, my mind similarly blank and I would go about, in robotic fashion, to whatever ought to preoccupy me (like work). All these mainly because I could not think straight, as if there’s this looming emptiness within me that seems not to end. After which my mind would experience as though falling into a great sinkhole and that I would feel restless to the point of irritation, in as much as what I would like is to primarily address is the longing for meaning that seems to haunt me in every waking hour (although the great difficulty underlying all these is to determine what causes the hollowness present within me). What really makes me feel empty? Actually, in all aspects, there should seem to be none for I have all the basics within reach, like a job and education. Still, there is that vacant space that needs to be filled that, apparently, I have no idea why such exists in the first place. Eventually, as my mind gets bombarded with all the sensations of emptiness, depression then gains ground; and with thus, the feelings of helplessness as though everything has become impossible to solve.

Pain, in Introspection

Instinctively, I would wrap myself in reflection mode so as to identify what makes me feel forlorn, with the said emptiness binding me throughout; or sometimes end up reviewing past experiences so as I would define the very state I am in. It turns out I would have triggers which directly influences how my moods work thereby initializing (turning on if you will) the feelings of desperation that, firsthand, appears to be non-existent at all. And many things do trigger me, four which I consider major: the question of relationships, finishing graduate school, faith, and finding a job that would make me entirely happy. Those four are my pet peeves so to speak, as I would find difficulty reconciling my own stability with that of addressing the aforementioned life concerns. This is most particularly true with the issue of relationships—my primordial frustration if I should put it as such. I have this almost haunting desire to establish a family of my own, to have a loving husband, to have children to raise for, being an only child, I know that I would be left alone in the future, most especially that my nearest kin have aged considerably. For countless times, with that desire I have always thought of as my primary concern tucked within my heart, did I fail: no one seems to be “there” intimately, no one takes interest, thus leaving me with a feeling of deprivation and desperation. Of course, I had some options of people I would have wanted to be emotionally attached with but no one reciprocates. One could therefore imagine how I, akin to a silhouette, would merely exist but without someone wanting me to exist in a special way. Now I, knowing how impossible it is to establish a family of my own, would thus experience a far-more debilitating sense of anguish—“What shall become of me?” My family has not been perfect, I grew up with no one to call a father and it did hurt alongside with countless moments of fear that I be bullied. I am apprehensive over being alone, and the clock is ticking. But I am rammed up against a thick wall with nothing to save me from it. Hurtful as it would seem, I would constantly resign to my fate which I consider as more painful than all the cuts I have made on my wrists only so I could alleviate myself from the pain. The others are extraneous; relationships form the crux of it all.

How I am Now

I could say nothing has gotten better with regard to the question of how lonely I am. Still I experience the doldrums, the sweeping desolation I do consider unbearable. I would not deny that it has been affecting me, on how to approach life: is there even hope that I could wake up one day with something new happening that could transform me eventually into that self-assured person that I ought to be? Yes, I understand that I need to “love myself first” or “highlight the positives.” Yes, I cannot discount that. Nevertheless, there is this aspect of self love that relates with crucial life opportunities common to all, i.e., people present in each others’ lives, to love them as they will for themselves. What if one does not experience love? Acceptance? All is nil.

So as of the moment, I still am in the process of appeasing myself without trudging onto the boundaries of self-oblivion. I don’t want to be invisible any longer, in anything and for anyone. For years I have been trying to contain myself; and although I have been on the brink of giving up, I just could not.

I want to be accepted. I want to be loved. I want to exist; and not likened to those houses draped in the bleak darkness of early morn, as I behold them in my almost choleric state inside a moving bus, waiting incongruously for the red brightness of dawn. Maybe, someday. And by then I know I shall be fulfilled.

Choleric-melancholic, blogger, teacher, mental health advocate, book lover.

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