The loneliness came back. Worst than I remember.
The relentless march of time felt like an unyielding treadmill, propelling the world forward with an ever-increasing velocity. Each passing day, the distance between me and the rest of humanity grew wider, until I found myself stranded in a desolate abyss, unable to even extend my trembling hand for solace. As life whirled by, everyone around me appeared to be effortlessly moving forward, leaving me behind to grapple with the shattered fragments of my heart. The weight of their indifference pressed upon my soul, suffocating any hope of respite. In this bleak existence, the only inquiry that echoed through the minds of others was a feeble attempt at concern: "Are you okay, Clementine?" Such a simple question, yet it carried the weight of my unbearable pain and grief. It seemed as though the world had forgotten how to truly connect, reducing my anguish to a mere curiosity, a passing thought.
How could I possibly be okay when my very being was consumed by an unrelenting sorrow? The hollow words "How are you holding up?" offered no solace, only a reminder of my isolation in a world that had moved on without me. My soul is aching, burdened by the weight of their gaze. Their eyes pierce through me, searching for answers that I cannot provide. They draw nearer, their voices echoing in my ears, repeating the same question relentlessly. "Are you okay?" they ask, their words like daggers, reopening wounds that refuse to heal. I am trapped in a never-ending cycle, spinning in circles, desperately seeking an escape. Their laughter surrounds me, mocking my pain, as they pounce upon me with their inquiries. "Are you okay?" they chant, oblivious to the shattered fragments of my heart. How can I be okay when the one who held my world together has vanished into the abyss? The agony consumes me, engulfing my every breath. I am drowning in a sea of sorrow, struggling to stay afloat. I must wear a mask of bravery, concealing the truth that lies within.
Aunt Bonnie placed me into therapy to combat the feeling of lost. I'd go to an office that housed thousands of feelings whispering in every corner of the room, the thousands of other patients all seeking refuge, though very few succeed in their journey. The seconds ticked against the beating drum of the clock as I was interrogated by a woman who solely served to help me. The crumbling and flipping of various pages that record my life. The time spent in that dark void of bottled-up depression, fear, anxiety, and anger only seemed to aid the therapist in their daily dose of drama. Bonnie believed that I was going to remain in a state of brokenness. Truth be told, I was already broken from the beginning. A lost child navigating through love that was unfit for them. Love that seems to be a burden too large to bear, yet too small to survive without. Love in this day and age, is all about adventure. Going out, meeting new people, and finding your happily ever after. But that simply was too simple to be true. A fragment of the truth. A fragment of what love truly was to.. me.
Love was supposed to be this longing so desperately strong it smothered your heart in a warmth that couldn't be replicated. A feeling that shuts down your ability to breathe properly. Or the feeling of being taken care of, leaving all the worries of this wicked world to dance alone in the deep corners of your mind.
I loved my father, to the point where it felt like I couldn't breathe without him. I can't finish the race without him, because he was the sole reason I kept running in the race of life. He is all I have. He was all I had. So no amount of empty promises that 'everything will work out' perfectly as the race reaches the finish line. No more glances of worry or stares of pity. No more mountains of information shared can steer my car away from the road that it is heading so clearly down. And that road is a deep depression of something called. Loneliness.
December 10. Marked a countdown on various people's calendars for the notorious Christmas holiday which seemed to be coming closer and closer, but to me, I marked on the calendar for the sole purpose of the year coming to a close. Which meant it would be a whole year without my father in my life.
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Kismet Kiss
Romancekis·met • to destiny; fate. After the tragic loss of her beloved father, Clementine believed that love would forever elude her grasp. She felt as though the weight of her loneliness would consume her, leaving her drowning in a sea of emptiness. Lit...
