A description of being alone

To feel alone is one thing. To be convinced of being alone is another.
I think I’m lucky in a way that I know that I am not alone. I am surrounded by loving and understanding friends and family. Some of them may not be so understanding, but still stay around and try to. I am lucky to have these people, and I am lucky for knowing I have them.
But depression can warp your mind, your body, into feeling alone regardless of knowing what is right in front of you. I think it’s because the feeling of isolation isn’t so two dimensional. It isn’t black and white, nor can any word fully describe it. Loneliness isn’t always just physical seclusion. It’s different from person to person.

To me, my loneliness is a feeling that the space between me and my skin are miles apart, and that this distance leaves me feeling paltry. It is the lack of clarity. The lack of control. The inability to feed myself even though I am hungry, to open my eyes when I do not want to face the world, to express when I repress. It is when the demands in my head do not come across in my actions, and the duality within are like clashing waves. It is the inner thrashings and screams that no one can hear. It is the feeling of my skin crawling without reason. It is the act of waking up at night with a jolt of anxiety while everyone else is asleep. It is not feeling a hand nearby. It is not wanting a hand nearby. It is the act of crying so often that it loses its meaning and comfort, and crying becomes just another burden.
Feeling alone isn’t just physical isolation.
It is being surrounded by a warm shroud of loving people, and still feeling so, so, so cold.

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