Loneliness and Life's Meaning

Saturday, December 12, 2015

It's the same line from the same old script: I love to be alone, but never lonely.

Lately I find myself lamenting the line, for I am never alone. I am surrounded by friends and family, people that love and care for me. Yet at this present moment, I have never felt more lonely in my entire life. Texts go un replied too, plans are made and cancelled, conversations feel hollow and unsatisfying, and my thirst for something more, for companionship and love, travel and adventure, blue skies and black starry nights, garners more everyday. The thought I am wasting the supposed best years of my life, sitting inside watching the rain fall on my windowsill drinking copious amounts of liquorice tea, is never far from my mind.

Is this it? Is this life?
I've always desired to live quietly. I've never dreamed of fame or money or popularity. All I've wanted all my life, is to be happy. A few close friends and my family in good health, a person to love and hold, a glass of pinot in my hand and a roof over my head. But what is the point of it all? Does life have any purpose at all? I'm having quite the existential crisis.

Just recently, the father of a close friend passed away. Just yesterday I learnt that my own grandfather was in hospital again, and my other grandfather on my father's side was crushed by a truck in a horrific accident many years ago. I also just found out that the brother of my best friend from high school, who I no longer speak to, died suddenly three years ago. He was in his 20s, in the prime of his life.

Closer to home, my grandmother on my mother's side passed away very young at just sixty-one of a stroke. She was a fantastic woman. She married my grandfather in the 1950s, and attempted to be a good housewife. She had four children, and although she was atrocious at it, cooked and cleaned for her family the best she could.

But Julie wanted more. In the 1970s, she took off. She went to university, became involved in the Feminist movement, and travelled the world. My grandfather on the other hand travelled a little but for the most part, stayed on the farm. I am not speaking ill of people who don't travel or attend university. For some, a simple life with the ones they love is all that is needed. However, my grandfather often speaks of my grandmother, as if she was an otherworldly force of nature, and I have come to believe that he regrets much of his life. I live in fear that I will reach his age and feel the same way.

It seems that one day you're alive and the next, you are not. Don't get me wrong, I certainly do not fear death. What I do fear is how much time I have left. Tomorrow I could get hit by a bus. And what have I done with my life? A sweet load of fuck all that's what.

I am for the most part, happy. I have friends and family that care about me, I have a roof over my head. I have a full bottle of pinot sitting on my windowsill and shortly I will head off to the supermarket to purchase my dinner. I'm doing pretty well for a 21 year old. It's just that I often worry. I hold great anxiety towards the future and what it will bring. And nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, prepares you for the crushing loneliness your 20s bring.

A few weeks ago my best friend headed overseas. I believe she is currently in Melbourne, having the time of her life and meeting so many new people. In six months or so she's heading for Southeast Asia, and after that she's planning on heading for Europe. I am so envious of her, she doesn't have a care in the world. I still have a year at university, but as soon as I graduate I am so out of here. Last night I mentioned South America and a work colleague who I am quite close with said he'd be keen to go. I will surely escape soon enough.

Maybe I shouldn't worry so much after all.
Until next times babes xx


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