You Just Never Know When You Will Feel Alone

Lying motionless and alone. Darkness all around. Thoughts darting through the cobblestone crevices of the mind. A single tear escapes from one eye. No warning. A scan of the body; no other signs that another crying episode is coming. And come it will. That is for certain.  For they have been coming in spades.

Heartbreak. Gut-wrench. Ache in the pit of the stomach. Torture. Pain. Numb. Despondent. Vanished joy. Disappeared happiness. Relentless thoughts. Aching. Empty. Loss. Harrowing. Hell. Exhaustion. Turmoil. Exclusion.

Clock ticking. Pulse thumping. Paralysis. Overwhelm. Nausea. Pounding. Headache. Hollow. Questioning. Sleepless. Inadequate.

If this is difficult to read, can you possibly fathom how difficult this is to experience and endure?

Welcome to my pain of the last couple of weeks.

Not the usual physical pain I am so accustomed to with the Fibromyalgia. This has been a totally different pain; one of trauma. A trauma I never envisaged I would be amid.

Out of respect for the privacy of other parties, I will not go into details as to the events of the trauma.

Instead, this is my own, very personal, and very raw, account of my hell I have been enduring in recent days.

Oftentimes I have made the statement that ‘this is temporary’, as a strategy to help get through the tougher times. I have said this for myself, and to others also. Now, they have reminded me of it, to help me hang on during this damn roller-coaster ride from hell.

Sadly, at present, this is of little comfort as my mind wonders with anguish, at how long this ‘temporary’ will be.

I have been tempted to ‘water it down’ and try and put a glossy shine to this story, so as it may be more palatable and less uncomfortable for you, the reader.

If I was to do that, I would not be honouring myself, or you, as I would be hiding my authentic self.  This is me, at my raw self, now.

Although there has been support coming to me, from time to time, from those I am closest to, I have also felt so incredibly alone. Not lonely, but alone. I can go days without seeing anyone.

I have sat with thoughts and emotions that have been horrendously painful. Alone. Escaping them has been near impossible.

The toll is taking a physical one also. The Fibromyalgia is flaring, and fatigue is gaining an upper hold.

The latter frightens me the most, as I had vivid memories of a period of chronic fatigue that rendered me non-functioning for almost a month. Back then, I was fortunate to have my daughters to be able to take care of me. Fast-forward a decade and they have very full lives with their families and jobs that require their energies and attention.

At present, I am spending half my day (around twelve hours) in bed, sleeping. When I awaken, I am neither restored nor rejuvenated. I am still tired and could stay there and sleep more. A need for the bathroom and a sometimes-hungry stomach dictate I rise.

Then there is the responsibilities of my home and a housemate who is on the Autism Spectrum. This factors into it also; someone who cannot step up when I need to be supported physically, and taken care of, nor sees my emotional or mental turmoil. Once more, the feeling of being alone rises intensely.

In the past, I have dug deep to find that tiny well of resilience and strength, that I didn’t know was buried deep down. Over the years, I have often wondered if that well ever runs dry.

Now, each day, I am trying to dig a little further, searching for that well. It is one of the hardest digs I have begun. It is torturous and at times, I just want to stop and give up. Instead, I take a break and try again later.

At present, I think I can smell the fumes of resilience, wafting from somewhere a little deeper down. Until now, hope has evaded me. My hope is that I can reach that puddle of strength and draw from it.

Hour by hour, I shall try. That is all I have the energy for, right now.


Further reading: 


woman feeling alone

Image credit: Ulrike Mai @Pixabay


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