(Written in 2011)
There is an inarticulate feeling that corrupts. It is a feeling that does not know how to present itself in words, or why it exists. Yet, it is a poignant state of being, one that clenches at the very essence of your fears of which holds you back from the world and rockets you into it at the same time. The madness eats you from the inside, the insecurity of it all gnawing away until there’s no more. It makes you beg the question as to why you are not that particular person which the people you so desire to be adored by, to be in the company of, all flock to be with. This insecurity plants the delusional thought in your mind that they possess something you don’t, a godly trait that fixes them upon the highest pedestal of the social order, adored and cared for in the smallest of concerns. All the while, yours cripples you into a debilitating sadness every breathing moment you gaze on this scene. When your world is succumbed into darkness, this delusion perpetuates the reality that no one is there, and no one can comfort you, and it’s your fault.
And, quite frankly, it is your fault, but only for allowing the rotten seed to fester. The seed makes itself seem indomitable, incurable, and invincible to your efforts. When you try and reach for the roots burrowing into your troubled mind, the ones that also stab holes into your tear ducts and make you cry, to try and yank it out, it pulls back viciously. The hand that reaches for help, a human companion of affection or care or tender warmth amidst a frozen world, is smashed into the ground in frustration, for it simply cannot do so. The delusion, the disease of which we call loneliness, has attended to its own survival by perpetuating in the minds of its victims that it is them that are at fault, that it is them that are inadequate to be rid of loneliness. It deludes them to believe that they should fear to try, that they should fear people and fear rejection. It does this by encumbering their minds and their actions with the gnawing roots of insecurity. That is how it survives: it feeds off you, and it distorts your reality into the paranoia of unheard rumors, feigned smiles, and unsympathetic ears. Although, in reality, they are every bit as great as they wish they were.
It encourages the disease when others gave you a glimmer of some justice in your life, who feigned smiles or gave false testimony to some virtue you were deceived into believing existed. The cruel dishonesty pierces the heart more brutally than any blade, and when you call upon the gleam of light, you see it’s merely a light bulb with a switch, switching on and off at the whim of its own vanity. Their vanity, however, is but a constituent to the delusion, a tool, but it works so perfectly, because it is the carrier of this delusion that feels crushed.
This disease is not entirely their faults, the lonely. The reason is because they’ll try with all their might to fix it, to ease their loneliness and seek happiness. Yet, the best they can do is search for outreached hands or affection or care. If they are denied this, if they are left to their solitude forever and no one calls upon them for their company, they will wither into darkness. It is one thing to work for that affection, a grueling affair that usually leads to disappointment. It is painful. People take their company for granted; they treat people incorrectly, when those who don’t have anyone would do anything to be in someone’s company, to feel warmth. Listen with your hearts, for the masks of the lonely bear the same fakeness of those who are tended to, for they wish to be like them, and reach out. Sometimes it’ll make all the difference in someone’s life to shine some light in the darkness of someone’s loneliness. Let them realize that they are, in fact, quality people