Loneliness

I came to England for friction. I was gliding at BSC, too fast, too wildly, like Chevy Chase on his greased sled. But in gliding there is no feeling and in speed there is no absorption. I needed friction, sharp and hot like match striking rock. What I forgot is that friction also causes things to stop completely. And when I landed in England, I slammed into a brick wall and then cried when it hurt.

In my first two weeks here I learned that loneliness is an all-consuming, black reality. It is very possible that you too will go there when you study abroad or travel or just live day to day. If you ever go there, into that cold seemingly inescapable darkness of loneliness, please do what I refused to do—reach out. Stick your hand out of that black pit and let someone hold on. Even if they cannot pull you out, allow someone to hold on. It is too scary to be down there alone.

The following are journal excerpts from my first two weeks here. I am no longer in this place. I am posting this entry, because it is what no one told me about studying abroad. If someone had told me, then perhaps I could have prepared myself for the blow:

I am lonely. So lonely. It was not supposed to be this hard. I am the outgoing one, the animated one, the one with what people say “too many friends.” Since I arrived, my family and friends have told me over and over, “I am so proud of you.” I lie and say, “Thank you,” but I am nothing to be proud of. I am lonely. I am scared. I am lost. And I do not know what to do.

I have been here two weeks, but it feels like I have been here two months. Two long, long months in which I have been so completely alone. I have cried almost every day since I have been here. Until I got here, I cried no more than five times a year, always in private, always a few tears and then I was done. “No more.” I would tell myself.

Today I have cried three times, and each time wasn’t just a few tears. No, they were racking sobs with ragged breaths, streaming tears, shuttering chest, and pathetic noises like a dying walrus. During one of these sob-fests I had to walk from my flat to the Student Guild, a twenty-minute walk through sidewalks filled with people. I found that if I just ducked my head and walked straight, no one would stop me, no one would reach out to me. I do not even know if anyone noticed me. At one point I doubled-over on the side of the road, my whole body shaking. But if you look pathetic enough, people choose not to see you.

I need to talk with someone, but there is no one here for me to talk with. Sure there are student mentors and a student hotline and a Catholic nun who I could go to, but I want to talk with a friend, a flesh and blood friend, someone who actually cares about me and will listen and hold me and let me cry. I don’t want to be just another sad face walking into a room, talking to a person who will forget me once I walk out.

Oh God, I feel so alone. My chest hurts, and I don’t know how because it feels so empty. To every person walking near, I think to myself, “Please be my friend.” But they just walk past. Down the street. Over the hill. On the bus. Gone.

I know that my family and my friends from home love me and care about me, and I cling to that. But there is no one here who does, and I need someone here.

My parents said to call if I ever felt alone, but I can’t call them. I can’t have them worrying any more than they already are. But I know that they would be hurt if they knew I thought this way. Children try to save their parents just as parents try to save their children, and in the end, we both end up hurting each other. Truthfully, I don’t feel like I can call anyone—parents, siblings, or friends. What can anyone do but say, “I’m sorry” as I whimper on the other side like a pathetic victim of an amazing opportunity that so many will never have. I don’t want pity. I don’t want anyone worrying.

I have learned that no one is going to come out from nowhere and comfort me or ask me how I am. The world doesn’t work that way. I have to assert myself, and at times I have. But it is hard. So hard to start all over. I do not even have a foundation here to build upon. My own country has been ripped from under me, and I am the one who tore it from under my feet.

I believe that happiness is a choice. I have to believe that. And I have tried to choose happiness, but sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes you are just sad.

The only good that can come from this is compassion. Where are all the lonely? Why can’t we find each other and not be lonely anymore?