The worst pain I have ever known has been the pain of childhood loneliness; the loneliness of the abused child who is ALL. ALONE.Â
I donât know that Iâve ever seen it adequately describedâŚbut I can remember, in horrifying clarity, lying in my bed at 11 or 12 years old, body wracked with quiet sobs (so no one would hear me). Iâm not sure if I was crying BECAUSE of the loneliness, but the pain would compound like that. It would go like thisânot necessarily in word form, but feeling: âI hurt so muchâŚI need help, I need comfort, who can I go to?â And I knew that my father, my mother, my motherâs boyfriend, my brothersâif I went to any of them, they would all tell me I was being ridiculous; calm down; what do you have to be upset about?; Iâm busy/itâs late/stop being so selfish (for bothering me with your issues).Â
And youâd realize there was no one, no one to go to. And the pain would erupt even further, because now youâre in pain because no one cares, but now no one cares that no one cares. And it could go on for hours like that: sob, anyone? No one! sob, sob, anyoneâŚ? No one! âand youâd wrack your brain for the millionth time, but no one new would appear: youâd thought of them all, and none were safe to go to.
Itâs easy to say that there were probably teachers or guidance counselors who would have cared for me if Iâd gone to them, but when youâve been unloved and abandoned from birth, you donât expect anything different from themâyouâve learned from your family that you would only be burdening this relative stranger with your inconsequential problems, and besides, the rejection would overwhelm youâall of the important adults in your life have cruelly hurt you when you were vulnerable; why would a teacher be any different?
So you justâŚlie in bedâŚyou stay in your corner, your closet, wherever, alone, because alone is the only safe place to be. Aloneness, especially for a child, is a pit of misery; a pit of seemingly endless sorrow that just takes your breath awayâand yet, it is STILL better than going to the monsters you know would hurt you when youâre most vulnerable. And you know that no one, NO ONE, cares, or will save you.Â
And you grow up, and the pain is still thereâno matter how many friends you make, youâre still alone. When the misery sets in, it doesnât matter how long youâve known your friends, how strong your bond supposedly is. Youâre alone. You grip yourself, thinking your insides will just rip apart; how could one body, one soul, experience and contain this level of suffering and survive? But you doâŚyou do. For me, if I just stick it out, it justâŚgoes away, after a while. I numb out. âDissociate,â probably. And itâs gone from my awarenessâŚuntil the next time.
To this day, I still isolate when I feel this wayâŚIâm terrified of rejection and abandonment; Iâm terrified that even friends Iâve known for years will be unempathetic, bothered, annoyedâthe worst: theyâll realize who I âreallyâ am. All these years, theyâd known me, or they thought they knew meânow they see the REAL me. This part of me theyâd never known was thereâŚand everything else collapses, the whole relationship ends, because I made one mistake, or just âwasâ a way that they were disgusted by.
If you ever felt/still feel this way, please reblog. Iâve never seen this sort of thing accurately describedâŚnever really felt that someone writing of loneliness reallyâŚreally grasped this level of sorrowâŚthis level of absolute solitude that only someone whoâs never had anyone from the start, whoâs only had predators for caregivers, can comprehend and sympathize with.Â
I understand. I know you feel alone; I definitely feel alone. But youâre not alone in your aloneness. I understand the sorrow youâre experiencing. I know what itâs like. I know that, somehow, with a lot of therapy, this will go away after a while. It has toâŚit has to. Hang on. Just hang on a little longerâŚyouâre so strong. You might not have any idea how strong you are for still being here despite that. You did it all by yourself. You got yourself through it. And youâll get yourself to better days, too.Â