Solitude.
I have always loved solitude until I stopped.
When I was growing up, I had a habit of separating from my peers, having fun on my own, being alone with my thoughts. I never had many friends and I never thought I needed anyone other than myself. But then as I got older, I hated solitude. As time went by, I couldn’t be left alone at all. As life went on, the more choices I made, the more mistakes I made, I grew angry at myself that it had been a danger for me to be by myself. I keep blaming myself for all the things that went wrong, I keep wanting to punish myself for making certain choices, I keep wanting to sabotage my life and wanting to end it in one swift motion instead. I keep wanting to disappear completely. By then I realized that I couldn’t be completely on my own so I no longer sought the solitude that I loved when I was younger.
Since I turned 20, I had never been completely alone. I made a lot of friends and I always had lovers around, I never wanted to be by myself because I was scared of what I might do if I don’t have anyone else around. It didn’t quite make me dependent on other people, as I was still capable of doing anything by myself; it’s just I constantly needed company. I didn’t care that it was my friends who stayed over, or my mom on the phone, my sisters on FaceTime, or guys blowing up my phone, asking me out. I just couldn’t be alone. It had been years since the last time I was alone, but then lately I let it happen. I had the worst month lately, nothing in my life worked out, I felt like a complete failure and I had this incessant need to push away everyone because I couldn’t face any of them. I couldn’t deal with the questions, with the accusations or the pity. I started closing off all communications with my family, with my friends, I started working less and not wanting to deal with anything at all. I left so many messages unopened, unread, unnoticed. I left my phone in the drawer since I didn’t wanna see it, didn’t wanna touch it. I had been faced with disappointments after disappointments that I just got exhausted. For days I spent time by myself, not necessarily doing anything, but not actually harming myself either. I wanted to, multiple times I felt like finishing a bottle of wine and taking all the meds I have but I didn’t have the energy to do that. I was so exhausted, physically and mentally, that all I did was took my sleeping pills and let slumber consume me for hours before I had to restart my life again the next day even though I went about my day as alive as a fucking zombie. I ignored my family’s messages, I let work calls go to voicemail, I avoid invitations from friends, I canceled any prior appointments, I blew off guys who asked me out. I didn’t care about any of it, any of them. I just want to sleep, want to be by myself, and not care about anyone else.
After some weeks of complete solitude that I haven’t done in years, I started to think that I was getting better. I only realized this one week ago, during my company trip. Which was coincidentally held on 7th February, the second anniversary of my failed suicide attempts back then. We all went to the local beach for a much-needed getaway and team bonding. I’m not much of a team player, and the fact that we went there on a certain sacred date, made me want to be separate from all of them. There I was in one of the beach huts, all by myself, the symphony of crashing waves filled my ears, salty air breezed through and made a mess of my hair–but I felt fine. All I have is a book in my hand, a phone with no service and I have nothing else. I felt content. Looking at the vast horizon of the sea, there was still a little voice in my head thinking it was beautiful, but it no longer encouraged me to walk to the center of the ocean and not come back. After years of struggling, that was the first time I no longer want to end my life even when a chance presented itself. I count that as a win. I breathe in the ocean air, muttering to myself, “I am okay”. I will be okay. I forgive myself for every choice, for every mistake, for every time I try to kill myself thinking it was the only way out. I forgive myself and I heal myself from all the past traumas. It wasn’t easy, it was a lonely journey, but I finally arrived. I was finally okay. I am finally okay, I can be completely by myself without being a danger, I am finally able to shut down all those horrible voices in my head. I am fine.
This isn’t a long story. It’s just a short snippet of a story about forgiving oneself. A story about me forgiving all my past mistakes and trying to regain myself back. I needed absolute loneliness to take back control of my life and my mind. Turns out I needed that so much, I needed that isolation, I needed that time to be back with myself and my own thoughts. I needed that to heal, to be okay, to be fine. Even though I am feeling much better now, I don’t think I wanna rush back into society yet because I still find this comfortable. After years of not being able to be by myself, now I proved that I’m fine and I’m no longer a danger to myself.
Honestly, I still have no idea what I’m about to do next, but I do know that now I am no longer the same person I was who constantly needed saving–cause now I already saved myself.
