FOREWORD: The world is full of lonely people. Some people recognize this and deal with it. Some others don’t and strive to drown it. Some happiness is genuine, vibrant, luminous, and some is just a front for the darkness that throbs behind. This I know, because I am intimate with this darkness. And so, when I read the piece you’re about to read, it spoke to me in volumes. It felt as though the writer had burrowed into my mind and unearthed everything he’d seen in there. The world is full of lonely people, who are in the end not alone. Read and let us know your thoughts in the comments section.
Sometimes I wake up feeling alone.
No, not scared. Alone.
Like I’m lost in a cocktail mixture of disappointments, ranging from finance to relationships, achievements, unmet goals, self improvement and a whole lot more unnecessary issues.
Staying around people, yet it feels like no one’s around me. Most times I’d want to call family and the few friends I have, but then I feel comfortable in my solitude and don’t want to bug anybody.
A lot has been synced in my mind lately.
Like open tabs on a browser, they all stay active, each zapping my mental energy to process.
Sometimes I feel like I’m straying from reality, from myself and the world around me. Like I can’t even keep up with myself. And so the future which seemed so colourful now looks blurry like grandma’s thick glasses.
Time would find me sitting and asking myself about why life seems weird, what I’d do next, how I’d start or if things will ever get better.
Sometimes these haunting thoughts steal my sleep and happiness, keeping me sad while believing that joy comes in the morning. But with the dawn of the next day, instead of feeling better, I feel like I’m sinking deeper, my hope depleting, drying off, exhausted.
Nobody sees this. Nobody sees what I go through on the inside, because I keep up with the smiles and the buoy of an almost drained hope.
Times like that, I feel like crying, but I can’t. Not because of the societal expectations of a male child or some random masculine rule, but the fact that I have to stay strong for some people.
Sometimes I want to talk to someone. Let them into my fears, thoughts, nightmares. But my vulnerability scares me. People are better actors than those who win the Oscars and Grammys. They act cute while talking to you, but would backstab, snitch or even laugh at your ‘weirdness’.
I look at the world and I see that I have just me. Just me to talk to, to encourage and just me to stand by me.
I used to hear a pastor talk about some ‘Helper’. Yes, I used to give it a thought, about some random person saving me from this lair of emotional puddle.
That thought too is lost.
Written by Justin Ebuka Muodebelu