The Swahili saying goes: asiye funzwa na mamaye hufunzwa na ulimwengu (if your mother doesn’t teach you, the world will). The very reason I don’t point fingers at my parents for not teaching me this because there’s only so much they can guide me through. I however wish someone told me. I truly wish someone was damned enough to tell me if not guide me. All the people that claimed to be my so called friends uttered no word. They did not warn me. I keep asking myself where the goddamn world was when I fell into this hell hole. Sod world! Why didn’t you say something.
Each of them (you) faded to nothingness as this happened. Opaque, translucent and before I could comprehend the situation I was trapped in, transparent and invisible. Surely, a little heads up would’ve been nice. I walked in circles, day and night, midnight through to noon. Never really felt an urge to go far because I thought we all were in this together. I was always scared of the rain. While you made merriment in it, tears welled up in my eyes. It washed away yours, but created mine. During the bright sunny days, while you laid and rolled in the green fields, enjoyed the blue skies and swam in the cool waters, all I felt were deep burns on my forehead and shoulders. My feet and fingers would always swell like crazy. When the wind blew, I hated it! It wasn’t a nice ticklish feeling as it made its way through my hair. It didn’t make cute whistles in my ears. It irritated me. Blew sand in my eyes, made dunes over me. I was always the lone wolf that died as the pack survived when the snow fell and white winds blew. Yet no one told me. I had no assurance. To not like what everyone liked wasn’t normal.
I walked around this hole constantly and consistently and finally fell in it. Thanks to your poor guidance. And that isn’t even the worst part. Falling into this pit, it swallowing me as all of you disappeared into thin air, my world shattering right in front of my eyes and knowing there isn’t anything I’d do, that, that was the worst part. All I did and could do was stare blankly as the events unfolded. At first it was unbearable. Torturous. Horrifying. Appalling. I was unprepared and I was crushing. I cried myself to sleep all night long every night. Tried talking to people. Extracting advice. Trying too hard to fix something I didn’t even know was or wasn’t. Sometimes I thought insanity had really gotten to me. I thought I was becoming mental or something. All my attempts at blending into the world failed miserably. Sometimes I felt suicidal and depressed and awful beyond measure. I took long walks, meditated, medicated in attempt to curb this. Poor me. I thought it was loneliness.
My breakthrough moment was when I realised I didn’t hate my own company, I just was scared of not having people around. When I understood that they didn’t help much anyway, I got over it! It was a foolish and greedy yearning to look up to others to satisfy my unfilling desires and pump up my ego. To have so many friends that I can only touch with my hands and not heart is pointless and impending doom towards disappointment.
Heck its Friday night or Saturday night but all I’m gonna do is lay here alone. Yes, here. With my hot coffee and a tv series. My bed will be my refuge. I will crawl into it, between my sheets, curl my back and entertain myself after looking at the stars. Having absolutely no reckoning to the overwhelming stimulatory activities that back then I so madly indulged in, in pursuit of pleasure and acceptance at the expense of peace, reputation and reason. It was in desperation to fit in that I involved myself and in the same desperation I escape.
All I needed was for someone to tell me or warn me solitude is fine and good, just maybe not right and there is a fine line between solitude and loneliness. As you dream, so shall You live- alone, but its still going to be okay.
(This is only out of creativity not entirely true events)