Often, the media is lazy and jumps on the bandwagon of topics that are already circulating, as if we had to uncover some secret that no one knew. Menopause, the therianThe Ozempic... We're all in this together, searching for impactful stories and developing theories with the help of experts. Unwanted loneliness is one of those topics. It's very sad when someone who longs for companionship and human warmth can't find a way to feel better, especially when it's someone very old, someone who thinks they'll spend their final years alone.
In my case, it's the complete opposite. I want to be alone as much as possible, but it's very difficult to find that time. Generally, what we call 'people' makes me nervous, unnerves me. I don't understand them, and they don't understand me. It's as if I lived in the sea and 'people' were trying to send me a message from outside the water. I don't know what they're saying. And it also happens that when I try to explain myself, I feel like there's a point where communication breaks down. What I wanted to say isn't what was understood. So I think that, deep down, telling others things about myself is a waste of time, a luxury I can't afford.
We could call it 'annoyance'. Other people annoy me just with their physical presence. The smells, the noises, the contact... I don't like them. The worst part is that some 'people' consider me sociable. It's a shame I didn't go into acting, because I know how to play a role convincingly.
Banality and superficiality block my ability to listen, and sometimes I have the feeling that they surround me wherever I go. It's as if they were the air I breathe.
I don't consider 'people' less or more than me. It's just that to fit into the world of 'people' you have to be triangular, and I'm square, to give an example.
Desiring solitude doesn't mean in any way that one doesn't love. I love deeply, even when I don't understand. In fact, one of my survival skills is not asking other people for explanations. I can listen without fully understanding what they're saying, without sharing the feeling, without knowing where my interlocutor is going with their arguments. And I can be at peace with these mysteries. I don't ask why or why not. It's not that I don't care. It's just the way it is, and I accept it. I suppose it's a matter of understanding that we all have an uncommunicable side.
