CW: emotional abuse, loneliness, depression, self-harm ideation

I’m suffocating. 

Great. What now?

The loneliness. It’s crushing me.

This again? 

Yes, this, always this. 

I can’t hold your hand anymore. I’m tired of this shit. 

You can and you will, ’cause you can’t go anywhere. 

I don’t get it. Two days ago you were fine—you were happy, you had friends. Now, all of a sudden, you’re suffocating.

I know. 

What the fuck happened?

I don’t know. 

Great. Now we’re gonna have to talk through this again and figure it out. Why can’t you just be… normal?

Ouch. 

You think that hurts? People are starving, there’s war, genocide, the world’s literally burning—and you’re here crying about yourself. Again.

I’m sorry, I don’t want to be like this…

Yeah, I know you don’t want it. But “sorry” doesn’t fix shit. How about you do something instead of drowning in self-pity?

What can I do?

I don’t know—volunteer, protest, donate. Help people who don’t get the luxury of feeling lonely.

I can’t. I barely have the energy to take care of myself…

Oh, here we go. Excuses. Can’t go out, can’t talk to people, can’t work—blah blah blah.

Those are real issues! I’m alone, I can barely… I’m trying…

Fine. But stop bitching. The world needs fewer people complaining and more people doing. Do you even get how privileged you are? You have time to feel lonely.

I know, okay? I know! I’m not blind to it, I just—

Could’ve fooled me.

You’re not helping. I feel worse now.

I’m not trying to help. I just want you to stop. I want peace and quiet. I was actually doing fine these past few days—then you showed up with your yapping and ruined it.

I don’t control this!

No, of course you don’t. Poor little rich boy. 

I’m not rich! I work, I have debt, medical bills—

Cry me a river. You don’t pay rent. You’ve got people helping you, an inheritance waiting. You’re still better off than most.

That’s not fair! There’s people who don’t have to work, I’m not… I know I’m lucky but…

Fine. Not rich. Still privileged. And still complaining.

I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you. 

You are. You always are. What do you want?

I don’t know…

Oh come on, of course you do. Don’t make me drag it out of you.

That’s not going to make me open up faster. 

Then don’t. Go somewhere else and sulk.

You know that’s not how it works. We’re one. Wherever I go, there you are. 

God, I hate you sometimes.

Mutual. 

So come on, out with it. What does the prince want? Champagne? Someone to swoop in and fix everything?

No! I don’t need someone to fix me. I can handle myself. Been doing that my whole damn life.

Yeah, yeah, fair enough. You raised yourself. Others would be dead in a ditch by now—you’re still standing.

Thank you.

Don’t mention it. I probably won’t again.

I could use more of that though… Kindness.

Kinda hard to be kind to someone who cries about dying of thirst while sitting next to a full glass of water.

Maybe… I think that too sometimes.

See? We agree on something. Miracles happen.

I don’t like it when we do. You’re cruel.You make me feel like I’m not allowed to be human—to be vulnerable. Just because I have things others don’t, doesn’t mean I’m full. Doesn’t mean I stop needing.

I don’t buy it.

Of course you don’t. You sound like one of those people who say, “You’ve got two arms and two legs, so what’s your problem?”

Are they wrong?

Yes, they’re wrong! Mental pain is still pain. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not real.

So that’s it then—your mental health again?

I don’t know. I just know I feel very lonely and everything seems hopeless again.

Any idea what would make it better?

Companionship, maybe. Kindness. Someone to share the day with. Someone who’d give me a hug. Someone who’d make you shut the fuck up and let me be sad for once.

Good luck with that. You’ve got people you can ask—go bark up their trees.

It’s not the same…

You’re giving me a migraine. 

I’m not trying to. It’s hard for me too. 

Then spit it out already! 

Fine! I want a partner! Someone to love—and who loves me back. Someone to share the daily grind with. Someone to come home to. I’m tired of empty rooms and silence so loud it buzzes. Some days it feels like the walls are closing in.

There we go. Finally.

Yeah. And the holidays are coming again. Another Christmas alone, with you. It bums me out. I don’t want to keep living with ghosts. I want joy. I want love. I want a reason to put up a damn Christmas tree.

I get that. It’s been lonely these past four years, I’ve felt it too. 

Then why are you giving me shit about it?

Habit, I guess. You start whining, I start punching. Is that not what we do? Our holiday tradition?

Oh, fuck you. 

You wish. Would be simpler.

Now you’re making fun of me?

I don’t know what to tell you. I know this is shitty, I get it. But whining won’t fix it, and I’m not gonna sit here holding your hand, whispering it’ll all be okay. I don’t know if it will. What I do know is you’re not ready for someone else. You’d just tear them apart. So all this crying for love? Kinda pointless until you stop bleeding on people who didn’t cut you.

… You’re right.

Yeah. So go wash your face. Can we get back to work now?

Nothing’s fixed… 

No, but at least you’re not suffocating.

I guess…

Good enough for me. Get back to work. 

Photo by Stefan Bütikofer on Unsplash