I guess that’s the one thing people don’t tell you about loneliness. It’s not an mental ache of longing that wishes you had someone to talk to or cuddle or just be around. It’s a physical pain. It’s heavy and sits on your stomach and lungs until you can’t breathe and want to throw up. It’s a fire that tears it’s way through your guts and pulls you apart from the inside out. It’s what makes you long for those extra hours at work just for that small bit of human interaction. It’s what makes you dread those spare days off when you have literally no reason to get out of bed. Depression is hard but loneliness seems even harder because what’s even the point? If you’re so lonely it’s not like anyone would notice if you stayed in bed. Or stopped eating. Or stopped existing.
WHEN ONE IS EXPECTING
Today, I bought this book (for my sister, lets clarify that now ‘cause the only way I’m going anywhere near sperm is if I fall into a vat of it):
OF THE BRILLIANT:
STUFF IT HAS IN IT: