I prefer to be in the background rather than the center of attention. I want to observe rather than participate. I like to listen instead of talking. You will not notice my presence, but you will feel my absence. Loneliness is a passing condition for many but not for me. Because very often you can have all the people in the world around you, but still feel alone. This is why you choose to remain alone, to build a "wall" between you and the rest of the world, that wall comes to a point where noone can destroy it. This is why I no longer feel alone but I am truly alone, and it is sad, it also hurts a lot, but after a while you get used to it.Let me tell you something: if you meet loners, whatever they tell you, it is not because they love solitude. It is because they have previously tried to blend in with the world, and people continue to disappoint them.
I am wrong if I shut up. I am wrong if I am with you and think of other things. I feel like sometimes I waste my time looking for a place to stay, a dream to chase. In the end I take refuge in the images. They keep me company. They are people I would like to be. They are places where I would like to go but I don't go. These are things I would like to have but I don't buy. Maybe I'll remain an image too. I am an image.
I haven’t felt this scared in a long time. Loneliness has once again made a nest inside of me and I can’t remember when it started. I don’t feel happy emotions, just moments of relief here and there. Something has jammed and I don’t know how to fix it. Is all this a nightmare? Am I just dreaming? Or has my life really taken that ugly turn that I haven’t felt for years now? Why is all this happening to me? Do others feel these unpleasant emotions too? I can only ask myself questions without finding the answer to any of them. I feel tired, deprived of strength to tidy up this mess, but the less I try to resolve the tangle in my head, the more He takes possession of me, preventing me from breathing. I don’t know where I will end up if I continue like this, I cannot see a positive perspective in all of this. But the worst part is that I don’t even want to do it. I am tired of always having to fight against life, this life that was “given” to me without my consent. I hate saying all these things, I hate thinking about them, I hate feeling helpless in front of myself. All this leads me to the only conclusion in which they are all better than me, for the simple fact that they know how to react better than me to the adversity of their evil thoughts, to their monsters who, contrary to how I did, have managed to appease . Why does it always have to be painful to me? I got tired of crying, but the tears never stop flowing. Is all this a nightmare? Am I dreaming? I would like to be able to answer yes to these questions of mine, but unfortunately this is not the case.We uprooted trees, skinned their trunks, extracted their souls to make neat sheets of paper, only to be able to smear them with filthy feelings … Millions of tortured and tortured daisies, unable to answer a question they don’t even understand … We dig deep into the earth to extract tokens of love that are shiny enough to hide the flaws in our feelings … Love destroys ecosystems to demonstrate something that cannot be demonstrated. Only what’s really deep reaches the surface (and I don’t remember who said that, but it’s true). For this you should put a cutting hand, horizontal, at the height of the nose, to see the gaze of those in front of you and understand. And break the bread in the middle, smell the first scent and understand. And choosing seemingly unmotivated preferences for people. Appearance is key. Of course. Women who can perfectly distinguish between 78 shades of lipstick, but cannot distinguish between a real man and a jerk who teases them. It always seems to me that there is something, something to understand that escapes me, promised in a dream and hastily yielded by the night and taken again sneaking white-handed of the day closed one above the other and voices whispering: “guess” behind every door, with a black mouth of every extinct fireplace and on the snow, footprints leading to a place and an hour later they are gone.And what happens during the night Only she knows. She who, In its darkness, It hides secrets and loves. Fascinating because mysterious, Silent because it is messed up. Nobody can understand it, She who does not seek to be understood. Only the night seems to be her friend, He is close to her while she cries, He caresses her hair with his wind. And so, one night, he went away
Whenever you come across a nice person you are faced with an amazing effort, a huge commitment, you are faced with a person who works on himself continuously, a worker of the heart who works night shifts on behalf of everyone you are in front of a person who never escapes, who manages to put care even in his distraction, who has learned to cause silence when offered to her a provocation remember that you are in front of it a story full of stories, long walks in the countryside of villages that we don’t even know how to pronounce, you have in front of you, a person who does not fear loneliness, who has learned to be alone to become an island to be alone who took his break a lifeline which he made of his salvation an anchor for others you stand in front of it to those who have known despair in person but she did not despair, that has disappeared from everyone, scattered everywhere, depended on no one, dispensation of the world whenever you come across a nice person thank life toast to the universe bow to the sun invents a Sunday throw a party you are in front of a work of art extremely fragile like the canvas of a painting, definitely immortal like a painting.Fragility is part of me, this is true; I feel very emotional and sensitive, able to grasp details that normally people are not able to fully grasp. Even those details are fragile: those little pieces of the world that no one sees, perhaps hidden by the shadow of chaos and lack of time … I see them, and I appreciate them. I see the fragility of the spider web after it has rained, when the droplets of rain run down the threads … I see how easily it could snap, and I sigh, hoping it doesn’t. I am so fragile that when I see a bee, or a hornet, or any insect that could hurt me, that is drowning in a basin, I bend down and pick it up with my hands, because I know it won’t hurt me, because in that moment we are both fragile. At that moment we both suffer. I can’t explain more clearly the sense of fragility around me, but know that wherever you look, in everything you see, there is always a crack, a delicate edge, something that if you look even more carefully, you will find fragile. almost as fragile as you are.
First the shyness, being a kind of ornament, cute, harmless, useful, immersed in my parallel world, in which only my vision of things was true. A world in which I could not be disappointed. Nobody would hurt me, I was a totally self-sufficient being, satisfied with the little things, independent of people because it was like that, it had to be like that. The study on friendship, my beliefs on reality. Then the awareness, realizing that my strength was my weakness, had created a void, made up of forced friendships, of people ignored. I realized that I had built an image that hid the real me from anyone, everything I was in addition to a studio machine or a perfect daughter. Maybe I was still nothing beyond that, and I wasn’t hiding anything, I simply hadn’t given space to everything I thought was “surrounding”. I tried to recover. In part, I grew up, I opened myself to others, to those who were willing to listen to me, now that I was willing to build something.We continually seek the company of others, in fact we are not able to be alone with silence. In the silence our fears, our anxieties, and our truest self emerge, which we nevertheless repudiate as if it were the most disgusting substance. I don’t know if the hatred we feel towards ourselves is something we have learned or that is innate in us, but it persists despite everything, indeed, whoever claims to love himself the most is the one who hates himself the most. Narcissists cannot listen to silence, as they have learned to ignore it. The less fortunate learn to hate each other without knowing the reasons, while some have to live with their own suffering in continually admitting the existence in themselves of dark places that are unbearable for everyone. The existence of man is a continuous escape from his own essence, since we are born without the means to contain our fullness.I can’t define my state of mind. It’s strange. It is as if I were totally normal, but at the same time I couldn’t help but think about this situation, which is both uncomfortable and fascinating at the same time. I lose my eyes in the void, even if to others it does not seem that it is distracting me. Or maybe I hope they don’t understand. I look at myself from the outside to try to understand something, but I don’t even know where I want to go, if I want to go all the way, or if it’s all an illusion, and what I’m thinking makes no sense. It probably is, although you find people here and there confirming that they are reality, these thoughts will remain imagination.
The thing I hate most is crying, which attacks you when you least expect it. You’re there doing something and suddenly your eyes are shiny again, what the hell, and you don’t understand how it happened. And the last thing you want is for someone to notice, because a second later they come to cuddle and chirp, and they want me to talk, and I’m really not into it. I close in on myself. I often get nervous and I take it out on myself a lot, because if my heart is shattered in one way or another it is also my fault. Thoughts crowd into your head, questions pile up, how do you try to answer one, no ten more pop up, it’s terribly hot, you can’t sleep, you are hoping for something unexpected but that won’t happen, as he opened his mouth to say one something, maybe even joking, all ready to judge and reproach you as soon as they have the opportunity, is a chain that will never end and that no one is able to break it. they are said and and tries to get by with the judgment of others. There would be so many more things to say but it would hurt both me and you too much.I thought about leaving. Not to say anything to anyone, go to the station and take the first train. Escape without a trace, abandon everything and everyone. I wasn’t going to tell anyone where I was going, not even my mother. They would never find me again. I had a best friend of those who from one moment to the next they find themselves sharing everything, of those who then, growing up, at any moment disappear and you ask yourself: “Why?”. And she told me to stay good, she told me that there were no more people like me. But he was corrupt and felt dirty. Then I had little kittens as friends, and there were four of them like the Musketeers but I didn’t call them after them. Then one of them died, Trinity, strangled by a rope taken by the dog to play. The great walnut welcomed his sweet little soul. I will not forget msi her little mouse face. She was too young to die. I too was too young to die but he killed me anyway.– Mom, I’m going out. -At this time? It’s three o’clock, where you think you’re going. – Don’t worry, I’m going to a friend’s house. Put something on, take your headphones and close the door. And where are you going now? You don’t know it, yet you walk aimlessly. Play the first song, bright eyes. Put the second, a tear. The third, you need to sit down, because standing up you can’t stand. And it hurts so bad, it destroys. Yet no one sees it, no one hears it, only you. Such a devastating thing for you, but indifferent to others. You get up, walk a bit. The tears are gone now, or so you think. A thousand thoughts go through your head. You look at the phone, no text, no call. Nobody cares about you, where you are from, if you are okay, despite everything. Nothing. You’re looking for a place to go, but you really just want a couple of arms to stay between. But you are alone, alone and devastated.
The other day I was on the street, with headphones in my ears, and I was listening to a song that I like so much. As always, when I listen to a song that I like so much, I escape from singing. I always sing: in the car, on a moped, on foot, in the shower, while I do the cleaning, while I am doing an exam … I am very annoying. In the evening after dinner, sometimes, I lock myself in my room, put on a base and sing. To the delight of the neighbors. Anyway, closed the parenthesis on my disturbing harassment, when I’m on the street I’m a little ashamed, in short, I don’t want to look crazy. So, the other day, when I realized I was singing out loud, I blushed a little and lowered the tone. But then I realized that no one had turned around hearing me sing. In short, if I heard someone singing loudly in the street, I would turn around. Then I realized it: no one had turned around because no one had heard me. They all had headphones, just like me.
And then I thought that it is really true that we are islands. We are closed universes, mostly parallel, with our internal worlds and our headphones. Is not beautiful. It is not nice that we are no longer willing to listen to the world around us, it is not nice that we are no longer willing to enter a universe that is different, foreign from ours. Even when we talk to each other, we continue to be islands. We never really listen to anyone. We remain in stand-by, while our interlocutor speaks, until he says something that sounds familiar to us and that allows us to reply with a very self-centered “yes, in fact, me too …” or that gives us the opportunity to show off our very just and absolutely not required opinion.In short, at the end of the fair, most of us don’t listen to understand, listen to answer. Maybe I’m telling you something super interesting about a new scientific discovery on a topic that should involve you and you, instead of listening with a bit of healthy curiosity, attack me, interrupt me, reply to cazzium dogs, because you feel your own undermined cupboard. So it turns out that you remain ignorant, while I come out a little offended by the way you have pissed me in the face.Or maybe I just need a real friend who just listens to me, because I’m going through a terrible time and I get the impression that nobody in the universe cares and you, instead of giving me my 10 minutes of genuine attention that I’m looking for. , you listen to answer me, to give me advice, to tell me what to do and where I’m wrong, or to tell me that you understand me why you went through it too. But I didn’t ask you for this. In fact, I didn’t ask you for anything at all. It would be nice if we all, out of the blue, took off our headphones and started listening to each other.
Today I cried again. Alone. In the shower.
I got good at not getting noticed in those moments. Or at least I try.
I don't always succeed.
The truth is that, by now, I have too much load to be able to "hide". Too many words that were not spoken, too many emotions that we tried to hold back. They are all there: stuck in the throat for several months. I'm on vacation and I should smile at everyone. But as usual he ruins everything.
Emotions press hard, like a ping-pong ball into the stomach.
The Miss who can make it at any cost, this time has succumbed to a crash.
Always at the right time when others need a hand and always at the wrong time when it's your turn. Because Miss doesn't know how to ask for help. They taught her (no, not her parents, but Existence itself) to stand on her legs and arms, because the mental stakes one clings to always disappoint.
And he does not know how to ask for help, nor take it, not even when that help comes spontaneously.
Perhaps because not all of them are inclined to Listening and even less lead to Listening to You.
Few are those who take words out of your mouth and pain out of your heart.
There are even fewer who understand you or those who care to understand.
No victimhood: everyone has their own difficulties in life and pain often tends to close rather than open.
Fears, then, govern the unmanageability of certain situations and you don't know what to do, how to help.
Silence. Thus we take refuge in Silence, when Speaking and being Listened to is the only real solution.
This is why, in the end, most people go to psychologists: because "no man is an island" and everyone wants to talk.
Listening is no longer practiced, not even towards oneself.
We hurt ourselves so much with words that don't come out, with emotions that don't vibrate, with gestures that don't happen.
Then you anesthetize yourself and think that finally that is the solution in which you no longer feel anything, to discover with horror that the pain remains and the joy fades too quickly.
It does not come out.
Today I cried in the shower. Alone.
I cried to cradle a little girl whose father died just over two months ago; I cried because that creature knows that her father was not a good father, but that he was hers and no one can take this memory out of her head.
I cried listening to the Woman with the chaos of feelings in the Soul, the indestructible Goddess who never wants to collapse ... pity that she is in a physical body that, sooner or later, had to yield to so many difficulties.
I cried for the youngest daughter, the one who wants to feel fragile because feeling fragile is a sign of humility towards oneself and towards one's own Existence.
I held the child, the lady, the youngest daughter .. I cried with them.
I burned my chest with sobs and ran out of tears. For today.
They will come back. Until I learn to speak.
He always destroys everything. Him and his anger. And now he sleeps and I am the woman who dreams when he sleeps.
In Gail Honeyman’s popular novel, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, the protagonist describes loneliness as the new cancer, “A shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way. A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it.” We don’t talk about it, and yet one in four adults is lonely, according to the Australian Loneliness Report. I’d describe my own loneliness as somewhere between sadness and a deep ache. Although the circumstances that brought it on – stepping out of an incredibly social career, moving to a new neighbourhood and having two babies in quick succession – mean I’m exposed to many risk factors for loneliness, it still took me by surprise. I love my own company, crave alone time and have happily lived by myself in the past. But, finding myself longing for support and connection – and not being able to get it – led me to a frustrating place where I was left asking: what is this feeling? Is it an emotion? A life state? And why does it feel so awful? “I think loneliness is an innate signal that a need is not being met, similar to hunger or thirst,” says Dr Michelle Lim, chair of the Australian Coalition to End Loneliness and a senior lecturer in clinical psychology. “From an evolutionary point of view, we are designed to be social, to thrive in groups and develop meaningful connections. The way we’re living now, many of our social needs are not being met, which triggers a stress response.”
What do you ask the people of this society? To be efficient, brilliant, beautiful. What’s so much about the women of this time? The trick. Because women always have to be perfect. They always have to be beautiful to be noticed and to be considered. women can never forget in their lives that they must always be beautiful. If they do not show themselves at their best they are considered witches, mussels, zombies. In short, women are always required to take care of their appearance. And women spend a lot of money to buy make-up products. They spend a lot of money going to the gym. To make destructive diets. Women are required to have an image always suitable for their role as females. If they don’t show this picture of themselves then they’re lesbians, or crazy, or depressed. A woman who neglects is considered depressed. If you don’t reflect the current fashion model then you are out of every pattern and therefore out of every round of friendships and stay alone. If you don’t talk about all the topics women talk about, then stay alone. Women themselves marginalize you, women themselves are the cruellest throws at other women.
More and more often I hear people say that you feel alone. Everyone says it but then nothing is done to bond with others. One selects, one discards, one becomes misanthropic. We deny ourselves, we close ourselves off, we become hostile, acidic, suspicious, and always behind the screen, there, fixed on looking for a solution for an increasingly false life. We complain of loneliness but then as soon as you invite someone to come out of the shell, a thousand excuses are presented to you. So who wants to stay alone because then he complains? Who does not want to live in reality anymore because they complain of not finding anyone? The virtual world is absorbing everyone. All! It is becoming like a large cage where people stop breathing and pretend to breathe. He can’t say enough. He can’t say No. He can’t say ok, I’m coming, I’m leaving, I’ll come to you, see you, we know each other, ok, in reality, on the skin. All hidden behind this screen. But aren’t you tired?
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 