I spent many years asking myself why I was so different. I wasted a lot of my precious time wondering why I was who I was.
Why do you have to dress differently, to listen to some undercover music, to eat unusual food combinations, to create new expressions every time you speak? I never really had the chance to interact with someone who I felt was on the same page as me. The only time I felt some connection was when I was reading books.
I thought that because I was the misfit, I had to adapt. The win goes to the majority. I used to avoid talking about what I was doing with my life because I was afraid of rejection. I have always hidden most of my favorite hobbies and thoughts because I thought they were not appropriate. Nobody wants to hear about Russian literature, nor the benefits of drinking mushrooms. You should keep that for yourself.
Hospice Care: No One Should Die Alone
Why the hell are you interested in Russian literature anyway? I am aware that every relationship requires a form of sacrifice and compromise. But what if you are always the one to sacrifice to fit in? It gets old. And the thing about never sharing your deepest values and interests with the world around you? No one truly knows you. I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. When I decided to take a step back from all of my relationships and to spend more time on my own, my goal was to see if my anxiety level and insecurities would improve.
I was tired to be the girl who has other hobbies that we are not much interested in. I must not have the right friends, will you say. I must not hang out with the right people for me. This time will come. Well, I guess you have a point, but how do you make new friends at 25? Like… No, if I ever talk about these topics, I must say goodbye to all of my chances of locking it up with new people.
But I guess I have become mature enough to stand for myself. He y, you have pretty nice interests, you should dedicate yourself to them to see if it will make you contented. Here comes the shocking revelation: I spend most of my time alone, and I have never been happier in my life. A man can be himself only so long as he is alone; and if he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only when he is alone that he is really free.
Regardless of what psychology says, I find joy and fulfillment in my state of solitude. I acknowledge that the human brain needs to interact with others to thrive and be healthy in the long term. I just plan most of my activities alone.
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I spend hours reading at the library. I go on long walks to enjoy the sound of nature and the feeling of stillness.
2. Loneliness makes you vulnerable to addiction.
This was as good as any. Not brighter, not gloomier. Not ever to forget. We drove to the address my mother gave me. I was standing in the sunshine and the look of this abandoned house was ripping my soul to pieces. This was home for him? This was it for him?
Sometimes facing reality is harder than feeding yourself a dream. He was lying there, on a mattress, with a book in his hands.
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He was peaceful. He looked peaceful. Or so I was told. Did he ever know peace? Did he ever know love? Was there anyone who loved him or who he loved? Was he hungry? Was he scared? Did he want to change? Did he regret it? Did he hurt? Did he cry? Did he think of me at all? I want to go back there and shake him alive and slap him and yell at his face and push him to the wall.
I want to punch him so it hurts, rip his skin and crack his ribs so he wakes up and changes back to my brother in an instant.
“No one should be alone in their old age, he thought.”
I want to tell him how much I love him and how much I hate him for leaving me here! He is gone. And I get to live. That he made his choice and he chose not to choose life. I get to live knowing that he died alone without anyone hugging him, holding him, loving him. Not on his last day, in his last times. He was A drug addict for 25 years.
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HIV positive for 15 years. Living on the streets for 5 years. He lived alone. And he died alone. And no one got to say goodbye to him. You just make room for it. His room is there. In me. Not in an abandoned house. Not alone. Not left behind.