The Agony and Ecstasy of Solitude

I’m two steps away from being alone, which scares me to death. All it would take is a breakup and for my increasingly elderly mum to die, and that would be it: no anchor, no connection, just the vast expanse of a universe without a friendly face.

I’ve created this reality myself. In general, I don’t trust people. I don’t even like them. I could go out and meet people a thousand ways, but I’d hate to do so.

The danger of loneliness is ever present — lurking in the background and forcing me to realize that as much as I dislike people, I need them too.

That’s not to say being alone is always bad. Some people seize the opportunity to recharge, reflect and pursue their interests. It can be liberating.

I want to look at both sides of the coin so we can all better navigate the pain and benefits of solitude.

. . .

The joy and creativity of “alone time.”

Being alone so long as you still know people care about you can be great for creativity and productivity. While my partner works, I have complete silence to read and write. For writers with large families and constant commotion, being creative must be a nightmare.

The silence gives you time alone with your thoughts. This is why people pay vast sums of money to go on secluded vacations — they recognize that alone time has benefits. Used positively, you can learn about yourself, process experiences, and grow to love the real you.

Paradoxically, alone time strengthens your relationships with others. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, and by not being under people’s feet, you develop a stronger appreciation for each other—everything in balance.

. . .

Forced isolation and deafening silence.

The dark side of being alone is when it feels forced on you — when you can’t help it. You want to chat with someone, but you’re coming home to an empty house. You see a beautiful sight but have no one to share it with. You want to confide in a loved one, but your goldfish is a terrible listener.

In this kind of “alone,” even cozy pieces of furniture torture you. Everything feels like a mausoleum — nothing changes or gets moved out of place unless you make it so. Those nicely plumped cushions on the sofa will never move unless you move them. The ketchup bottle will only go down as fast as you use it. Everything’s so sterile and void of the chaos that comes with emotion.

Now the silence is overwhelming. The slight echo in each room screams at your inadequacy.

When my psychosis was at its worst, I couldn’t bear waking up alone. I used to feel like I wasn’t real if there was no one to register that I was awake. All the routines we base our life on, what do they matter if it’s just you? Why go to bed and wake up at specific times? Who cares how often you eat or shower?

I felt anchored to the real world if I woke up and someone was there. I acknowledge the world has no meaning, but if someone’s around, it helps me pretend it does.

One day my partner was going to visit family for four nights. After she left, I curled up on the floor in the fetal position and sobbed until I had nothing left. I lay exhausted on the rug, desperately stroking it for comfort, drifting in and out of sleep.

. . .

Why it’s not as easy as getting out there and meeting people.

I know the self-help prescription for loneliness — get out there and meet people. If you approach enough people, you’ll make friends, contacts, partners, and anything your heart desires. But this is the equivalent of telling a Depressed person to snap out of it.

I don’t like people. I spent years being bullied by them, being lied to, and abused. By age 18, I was resigned to never having a real friend. I’ve come close a few times, but they fell by the wayside — perhaps because of my skepticism.

After a brief career in the police, my hatred for humanity consolidated. I’ve seen every kind of abuse one person can dish out to another. Every type of lie, betrayal, corruption, abuse, and harm.

I’ve seen people clamber over dead bodies to get to the kebab shop. I’ve seen people walk past a nightmare unfolding on the street so they can return some plates to a friend. I’ve seen truck drivers shouting because they’re inconvenienced due to a man falling and breaking his back in front of them.

Worst of all, I have seen and heard crowds chanting for a suicidal person to hurry up and jump — he obliged.

Again, I know not all people are bad. I know some people do marvelous things. But my hatred is on an emotional level based on personal experience. When I force myself to socialize, I hate it. It drains me.

Yet I need the thing I hate. I need people. And if I ever lose my loved ones, I’ll have a stark choice — meet strangers or suffer isolation.

. . .

Final thoughts.

All I need is one or two people that care about me to fulfill my need and avoid the forced kind of isolation. I have that, but life can change, and I wish I weren’t so vulnerable.

Most people have big families. Outside of my mum and partner, my family isn’t worth a bean. Self-centered, thoughtless, and emotionally stunted. You couldn’t make a single friend even if you added them together.

Most people have children. To me, bringing children into the world is the ultimate selfishness. Not only that, I don’t like children. I don’t want to listen to their ramblings all day, and I don’t want to risk them growing up to be jerks that I’m stuck with.

So being alone can be both a source of joy and horror. The pleasure of solitude is discovered when we enter it on our terms. The horror can be summed up in a case where a dead woman lay undiscovered for so long that her dog started consuming her. I also know of one person who died and was undiscovered for years. She was found by the authorities who came because she hadn’t paid her bills.

We should all aspire to avoid the depth of loneliness that would make bailiffs our ultimate saviors.

. . .

Click here to join my Substack community, where we focus on all things related to mental health.

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This post was previously published on Publishous.

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