The real pandemic is loneliness.
In an era of technology, I have never felt so alone.
Alone with my thoughts.
My insecurities.
My faults.
My anxieties and my inner demons.
So, I guess I’m not really alone.
I, Perhaps, am feeling deprived of the closeness to others that I’ve so longed for all my life.
Instead, I find myself getting closer to my insecurities and anxieties, and further away from human contact.
The overwhelming silence which occupies my phone is so loud, it’s deafening.
The press of a button sends a message into an unknown parallel universe, and it’s gone.
I wonder if the milky way has all my unreturned messages?
All my unsent words?
All my invalidated feelings?
I’m not alone; I’ve got deafening silence surrounding me, louder than ever during quarantine.
My anthropomorphic thoughts make themselves very present.
My mind is a battlefield being thrown grenades in every direction. I simply cannot dodge them all.
Shrapnel from the grenades linger in my mind, coming together to open the biggest tab in web browser history.
Sleep eludes me, with all these “thought grenades” blowing up my mind. Nevermind what I said on October 13, 2003 at 2:58pm.
Apparently I have bigger, more important fish to fry;
and the stubborn little fuckers only bite at night when I’m trying to sleep.
“Thought grenade” number one is thrown into the battlefield, aka my mind.
It explodes
word vomit goes everywhere.
I can see the contents of my mind for the first time ever, right in front of me.
No longer can people tell me it’s all in my head;
for, now, it’s in plain sight.
Not even I can deny what’s right in front of me any longer;
a giant cesspool of my biggest vulnerabilities, just sitting there staring me in the face.
The jumbled up alphabet soup that usually occupies my brain, is all crystal clear.
I feel like the energizer energizer bunny trying to decipher all this.
The first word to form out of that giant thought grenade turned word vomit turned alphabet soup, is “LONELY”.
Fuck!! How did the soup know?
It keeps going, forming words which seen to be somewhat of a personal attack on me.
UNIMPORTANT.
CONTROL.
ABANDONMENT.
UNWORTHY.
EXPECTATIONS.
Now I know what Cady Heron, Karen Smith, and Gretchen wieners felt like when Regina George fucked them over in mean girls.
My own thoughts have just Regina George’d me.
Unfortunately, I can’t do the desired thing, which much unlike Cady Heron did, I can’t push my enemy (in this case my thoughts and emotions) in front of a bus to make them go away.
What’s the best way to clean up word vomit containing your most insecure and vulnerable feelings you never wanted anyone to know? No one but my inner self, for I’m my own worst enemy.
God damn it, I’m my very own Regina George.
People don’t deserve to know me like that- and I dont deserve to be victim to what people choose to misunderstand. People’s judgement.
People’s false sense of empathy.
Most of all, people’s entitlement. Entitlement to empty advice on something they know nothing about. Perhaps that’s where the bastard loneliness comes in.
Not a physical loneliness, because I’m surrounded by people.
We’re in a complicated yet somehow committed relationship, loneliness and I. It’s almost, dare I say, romantic.
When loneliness and I get together, it’s such a enjoyably melancholic time. Especially when they bring their two friends, anxiety and insignificance.
I’m stoked for this threesome that’s about to happen.
I hope I have enough protection. Insignificance seems like the dominant type, and they’re coming in strong. Anxiety follows suit, like the lackey they are.
Insignificance whispers sweet nothings to anxiety.
Anxiety then whispers sweet, nonsensical nothings into my ear.
Things are getting serious.
A tingle goes down my spine as the warm breath of the whispers enter my ear, and move through me.
I look out into the universe and sigh, knowing they’ll be back tomorrow. Nothing fucks you bigger and better than your own insecurities.
Everything is silent in the world; everything but my mind.
No surprise there.
Repeating back to me the sweet, stupid, nothings and word vomit from my dance with insignificance and anxiety earlier.
I’m tired of internal chaos and loudness, and external silence and nothingness. The internal dialogue of sweet nothings eventually lulls me to sleep like a bedtime story.
One I’ve been telling myself for years. Somehow, in my ever so desperate attempts to chase away loneliness and desertion, I’ve done the exact opposite. I’ve become a paradox.
It’s Murphy’s law.
I attract the overwhelming silence that I’m so afraid of.
It’s a chase I’ve made many times before, but always lose.
Not everyone survives a pandemic. Maybe the loneliness Pandemic is better left not fought at all.
For, the real battle is within myself. Between what I know and what I feel.
I never did figure out how to clean up the thought grenades/ word vomit/ alphabet soup