Loneliness Is the Only Constant of the Universe 

“You’ve lived in this city for years and you still don’t call it home – It’s over, chewed up, time to move on. You’ve been nothing but a visitor, an anomaly, a passing train to everyone you’ve met.”

– Andy Weaver 

I’m lonely all the time. The friends I have, I can pretty much count on one hand. I’m rather awful in my own special ways but I think not enough to warrant the level of seclusion that I have in my life… so, um, perhaps it’s the circumstances? 

To enumerate. 

1. I regularly attend a church that judges homosexuals and mentally ill people. Usually out of obligation to my mother, but lately I’ve been having a painful longing to reconnect with my Christian roots – and to be part of a community that doesn’t think my love is sinful and disgusting 

2. My parents are mysteriously somewhat alienated from their families, so I have no close relatives

3. The one time I attended an organization specifically arranged for recovering mentally ill  people such as myself, I fled in barely disguised terror 

4. I’m Westernized but not rich. Or at least not liquid 

5. I attend a business course – this is the truest and most sordid factor in the complicated combination of factors that resulted in this shittiest of shitty decisions of my life: I was undergoing a depressive breakdown at the time. I had the option of taking a leave of absence from my university. With my transcript and the prestige of my previous university, I could have also transferred someplace Pretty Good As Well. But I had never had a depressive breakdown before and I was 100% convinced that all my mental circuitry was fried. At the time, I was narcoleptic and had trouble remembering and understanding the most basic things such as short lists, descriptions and directions. 

So I immediately applied to the course I thought would be the least demanding, barring a TESDA course (which I also seriously considered). 

It’s nobody’s fault but mine. But here I am now, and no one here is like me – I starve of conversation every day. And whenever I try to connect with someone, I can’t make it feel real – I have to put forward a version of myself that is less creative, less definite, less intelligent, less funny, less passionate, less critical, less everything of what I am – to make sure I won’t make them uncomfortable. 


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