Age of Loneliness

I just need a place to write, well away from the watching eyes of everyone I know. Safe & anonymous where no one can judge me.

I've become wretched. As I knew I would. It really isn't a surprise. I knew it was coming to this as soon as I accepted the offer to come home. I may not know the details, but I almost always know what is coming. I get these feelings of dread.

Today I looked through a box of things my mother and I had saved from when I was between ten and thirteen, I think. Countless letters to a band I don't care to mention, lots of stories and poetry (none of it particularly good, but okay for a child of that age, I suppose.) What struck me most was the horrible sense of loneliness even then. I had quite a few imaginary friends. Even an imaginary boyfriend. I was very awkward at the time. I was a desperate soul even so young.

This sense of otherness, otherworldliness; this feeling of being different and not fitting in, not belonging to this world has haunted me for as long as I can remember. I have always been lonely. I can remember playing alone for hours, making up my songs, talking to my dolls and stuffed animals. It's no wonder I am so solitary and keep to myself. It's how my whole life has been.