Being Candid About Loneliness
Every writer has different styles. I’m usually reality and humor. People know I rarely get too raw and have a hard time showing emotion. This is really deep! It’s full of things you really want others to understand. Things a lot of people, like me, have a hard time saying.
This is a fabulous story written by a fellow blogger and one of my favorite people! Here’s a very candid story about what’s behind the smile everyone else sees:
This is the loneliest I’ve EVER felt
I deal with depression. We go waaaay back. In middle school, I juggled bouts of sadness and depression. It’s been there for a looooong ass time, just outta sight but always within reach. Well, I’m within its reach. There’s definitely a difference. I am never reaching for depression. I never desire the weeks alone, mired in negativity, absorbed by scenarios of self-destruction. No one wants that. Nobody.
Throughout life, I’ve taken great care to cultivate a circle that prevents the feelings of depression. In high school, I sought homies with “bigger” issues. It was easier to talk with them, grind with them, get lost in their quest for ways out of “da hood”. There was a fight in each of them. Each homie had a plan to get out. Often, their plans coincided with each other and shit hit a fan. None of that scared me. Rolling with them kept me from loneliness, abandonment, crazy thoughts and real nightmares.
After high school, I jumped from college to college. Each stop was short as I dove into criminal activities. Sure, marijuana was an element, a motivation of my poor judgment because I didn’t know any other route to achieve it. Rolling with young people, smoking marijuana, getting wasted was a basic lifestyle of college, any and every college. In high school, I knew those faces, locations, prices, and strength of marijuana. In high school, I knew where to go for alcohol, I limited myself because the threat of my parents discovering my actions shamed me. In college, all that was removed. I rolled with new people, took new risks and did my best to hide the darkness from whoever was around. The results should’ve been tragic. Hell, I expected tragic results as I continued taking risks with people I barely knew. Besides poor grades and crappy attendance, I earned legal troubles at 2 of my 1st 3 universities. The 3rd was such a close call that I left on my own.
Depression stalked me from high school to college. I graduated, got married, had kids, bought a house, did yard work, hosted Bar-B-Qs and tried to deal with depression without marijuana. I banked on binge drinking and having as much fun as possible. It worked! The activities and responsibilities of marriage and parenting shielded me. I could go months without saddling my mental health to the darkness. I built a wall around my family life, determined to lock this busier, happier version of myself with the growing family. Doing this presented unique challenges and I conquered them all.
Theeeeeen, I’m struck with Multiple Sclerosis. The disease is the slowest form of death. First, the truth of the disease litters imagination and thoughts with negativity. The truth is there is no cure. The truth disables its victims. The truth affects perspective, relationships, and an individual’s potential. Each of these essential elements of human existence are directly related to depression, abandonment, and loneliness.
The loneliness of Multiple Sclerosis starts with physically being alone. As symptoms multiply, gaining strengths, the opportunities to be with others dwindle. People come over with full intentions to kick it with you but the group literally moves too much, back and forth, inside and outside, porch and garage, it wears me out. I feel like I farted in the room when I mentioned the movement. There’s less talking as people act as if anything they say or do may upset me. *rolls eyes* That’s when loneliness intensifies. I’m surrounded by friends and family but I’m truly alone. This happens more often than not, injecting me with replays. Even as I write this, it stings. It’s a reminder that I’m alone. People give an honest effort; I recognize that, I’m grateful. But, I’m alone. I’m constantly accepting the genuine effort and it feels like I’m sacrificing myself for whatever they offer. That digs the loneliness further in my spirit. This is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.
On a regular basis, I suffocate on the presence of people I can’t talk to. They leave their shoes, purses, bags and everything in the most inconvenient places. Always somewhere that makes my movement more restricted. My cups and plates are nestled at the back of cabinets, food at the top of the refrigerator. I stretch myself in dangerous positions to reach them. Conversations are awkward as people reminisce about activities and events that I can no longer participate in. Vacations, celebrations, nights out, road trips are planned. Rarely am I included because I require disability bars and key wheelchair-accessible accommodations. I overstand why I’m left out and don’t fault anyone but still, I’m scrapping for survival. I don’t want to ruin everyone else’s good time by dragging my limitations into happy talks and well-deserved excursions. My perspective defines the beautiful side of ugly.
This is the loneliest I’ve EVER felt.
Kendrick Avant, M.Ed
Professor of Gratitude
832.677.7037 (WhatsApp too!)
kendrickavant.com/professor
