I have had my fair share of lonesome summers, but it never really bothered me till now. In the last year, I have found myself craving the company of my friends more often, perhaps the result of experiencing a bout of intense anxiety and only finding real happiness at the other end of the metaphorical tunnel when sharing my time with people. Since then, I have made a conscious effort to stay in touch with friends, plan time together, only to find myself continually let down by people who can’t reciprocate with the same energy that I invest into the relationship. Over the last two weeks, there have been numerous occasions where I have taken the initiative to organize plans with friends only for each and every one of the plans to be bailed on at the very last minute, often times with the shittiest renderings of an excuse. I can’t help but feel foolish every time the inevitable message comes through on my screen, ending on a pitiful sorry emoji, the insincerity in the words tearing into my mind. I took the time to clear out the day in my schedule, only to have noncommittal people dismiss my efforts without a second thought. I started to think that maybe I’m nothing more than an annoying blister to them. A blister they attempt to satiate with a mindless “maybe next time” and “sorry I couldn’t make it”.
I had somehow become so dependent on external sources for my own happiness. How did I end up here? I can’t help but feel frustrated that I have such a hard time dancing between one end of being a hyper-isolated person, and the polar opposite of wanting company frequently. I can’t seem to reach a healthy medium. I spend a lot of time alone in the library studying, alone in my dorm, alone on transit, and ultimately disappointed by the people around me, bringing the abrasive noise of constant solitude into a rising symphonic blast. That is all this is. The repetitive rhythm of my daily routine is no more than an unforgiving white noise. I long for endless conversation, spontaneity, and romance of every form with the world, but something is always falling short. Even my own writing, the one true escape, has become stale. The former boundless flow of ideas seems to be blocked by a dam of reservations. I can’t tell you how many times I have opened up my word document on my computer, only to stare at the blinking cursor for a few seconds and let my mind wander off to other meaningless distractions like social media. That has been my daily ritual as I grapple with my own words, only to fail miserably at the task of constructing sentences with coherent meaning.
They say misery loves company. Yet I have never felt so alone.