Inconsolable Loneliness

It hits me so rapidly that I barely have the opportunity to recognize its onset, let alone take preventative action. It always starts with a tightening at the base of my esophagus and then progresses quickly: spreading over my chest, quaking down my arms, spilling over my eyelashes. I move about in it, dumbly, for a while, wondering when it will stop and how I should go about stopping it.

"When did it start this time?" You might ask if you were here, although, if you were I wouldn't tell you any of this so you probably wouldn't know to ask.

It started, as it often does, when I was driving. Driving is a painfully lonely activity, if you ask me. I could make up some reasons for its timing. Today, for example, I was headed to a social gathering where I would, likely, find myself alone. I was leaving a place where I spent a lot of time with Renee, back when she was here. I could just have a little residual pms-heightened emotions.

Every time it hits me, when the lonely starts to swallow me in, I flip through a mental contacts list. I don't know why I bother. I've only ever turned to two people in my sadness, neither of whom is readily accessible these days. Honestly, it's more like a subconscious torture tactic: Hasn't Bothered Talking to Me Since May, Would Rather Talk About Herself Than Anyone Else Ever, Yeah Right, At Work, At School, Way Too Far Away, Don't Bother Her With That, Don't Make Life Worse For Him, Yeah Right, Yeah Right, No, Wouldn't Care, Has Bigger Issues...

Before you get all, "You can totally call me if ever you're feeling sad or lonely or whatever! I'd gladly be there for you!" You should know: most of them wouldn't have a problem with me calling them and saying that I was feeling a little bit lonely. Most of them would be relieved if I called them and told them that I could picture blades etching lines on my forearms, because at least they'd know that I wasn't etching lines down my forearm. Most of them have offered to let me call them.

I'm the one who doesn't let me call anyone. I just can't bring myself to do it.

Back to the story.

I always have this idea that I can totally prevent the storm, regardless of the fact that it's already started raining. So I numbly walked onto the quad, smiled at a couple of people, and grabbed a veggie burger and glass of water, and began searching for anyone I knew. I sat by the first friend I saw because the aching beneath my sternum told me that being near a friend would banish the loneliness.

We talked for a bit--this heat is unbearable, this food is good sort of talking--before he excused himself to get seconds. I waited until I couldn't bear to continue to sit by myself. I walked to my class, sat down, and waited.

A classmate came in and made a joke about the heat. I tried to match her joke with one of my own, but sadness was spilling over my eyelids--I've gotten pretty good at crying without it affecting my voice--and with a shocked look she asked if I was okay. Quickly, I dismissed myself. How cliche is this bit? I cried in the bathroom stall, and pulled myself together as quickly as possible. When I returned, she apologized and I dismissed my feelings--"Oh, no, I just... cry sometimes."

I always say that when people catch me crying.

From then until now I feel like I've just been pushing myself along. Caught in this cloud of hurt and lonely and trying not to let anyone else catch on.

I use these little phrases to key people in--"I was in a kind of funky mood" "I was just, like, sad earlier" "I'm really tired"--so they won't wonder about the redness of my eyes or the clumps in my mascara.

I don't know. It's just really fucking painful to feel this way.