Sour Hurt

Loneliness kills you.

I won’t explain the feeling. I won’t describe the pain.

Maybe pain is a strong word; let's go with.… hollowness. It’s a hollow vessel. Because it is empty. Filled with nothingness. It is not something you can describe. It's the feeling of wanting someone, and then looking around you and seeing everyone has someone.

And you are alone.

At my previous school, when all my ‘friends’ used to hang out without me and talk about stuff I didn’t know, or simply when I was sick of pretending, I used to go on these swings. Mostly at night. They were a spitting distance from our house, but very few knew about it. I had found them on one of those days when I had lied about going to my friend's house.

I never understood why I lied about that. I could simply say I was going for a walk, alone. But that would seem vulnerable and pathetic. As they show in the movies, one girl, walking all alone, has friends, but they are fake. What was she to do!

However, all that doesn’t matter. The truth of the situation is simply- I WANT to be alone. However, the truth is always the most difficult to say, isn’t it?

On one such occasion, maybe in the first few months of being there, I found the swings. Hiding behind a set of old, bent, and bushy oak trees, covered by its branches.

There were two U-shaped leather seats. The chains had rusted, of course. But the seats were perfect. I still remember it was a July evening. And we were blessed with a sunny day. The sun was setting, and the was night slipping in. The moon on one corner, crescent and clear. The sun on the other painted hues of orange and pink in the sky. And just above me was the sky cut open by the branches and leaves.

I sat on the swings for a long time. Swinging occasionally, listening to songs.

I wanted to paint it. Paint this moment and capture this forever. Maybe add some things, make it autumn instead. With fallen leaves beneath my feet. And remove the bird poops. There was a contradicting feeling inside of me, I wanted to rush home and paint it on the biggest canvas I had. But something kept me there for hours, as I watched the sun go down and slip behind the lines of oak trees, as the crescent moon slowly shone.

I sat there staring, all alone.

So, it is not wrong to say that I have experienced loneliness. I was lonely most of my life, people might disagree. Because they don’t know how it feels to be feeling alone, while still having people around you. Like dancing alone in a room full of people.

However, I don’t want to say that I am sad. I am lonely, and it is a choice.

It feels vaguely comforting to be in your own presence.

It's like being wrapped in a blanket made of your thoughts and memories. It’s the kind of happiness that is not smiles. The feeling of content, as I say. I feel whole in my presence, and I don’t need someone else to make me feel loved.

I love myself.

And I say that because I have hated myself. Have hated the way I didn’t have anyone to talk to about the things that troubled me. I have hated that I pretend to be someone I am not. I have hated the way I was.

And believe me, the journey from hating yourself to loving yourself, with your whole heart is- unimaginable. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, a whirlwind of thoughts, and a shining palette for a new you.

And for a new you, it takes changes. Someone has said- ‘Change doesn’t have to be growth. But there is no growth without a change.’

And I used to be afraid to change. Funny, because I WANTED to change. Because I hated myself. But I still, was afraid of change.

And I don’t how it happened.

How I changed, for the better and learned to love myself. Love the way I healed my heart on my own, and solved my problems by myself. Love the way I can be myself. And love the way I was.

I love my old self. I would like to say thank you to her. It is because of her, that I am the person I am. I owe it to her and to the mistakes that she made. All the wrong choices and the difficult decisions she took. I am proud of her. And I always will be.

She was alone and she went through hell. Then, she made me.

By Aashi Krishnatray