The loneliness was crushing. It weighed down on him all day, every day. He would burst into tears for no apparent reason to anyone with the exception of himself. Sometimes there were great waves, other times it was a light and silent stream. At night, for example, the water rained harshly. When he was alone in bed in the dark, he stewed in his misery and thought about all the happy people who had found someone to love them. He hated them. He couldn't sleep because his bitter, resentful, angry and indignant thoughts would not let him alone. His only reprieve came when he was too exhausted from sobbing and sniffling and wiping away the tears and snot to stay awake longer.
Sleep did not provide the escape to the vast emptiness. In his dreams he could still feel the hole in his chest. People were all around him. People he knew; people who loved him; not the right people.
Waking up physically hurt. His eyes burned, his head ached, his limbs were too heavy, his stomach churned and his heart broke. His psyche automatically filled with thoughts of despair and self-doubt. He wanted to go back to sleep to dream of the fake people who fake loved him.
As he drove to work, his thoughts once again waged war on his soul. The love songs on the radio reminded him of how alone he was. Singers who made promises of "I choose you", "I'll never leave you", and "You're beautiful" were like betrayals. "Liars" he would think to himself. Nobody ever chooses me. Everyone always leaves. Someone better always comes along.
It was in the car, listening to the songs of both true love and broken hearts, which caused the light and silent stream of tears. He wondered if any of his co-workers noticed the red and puffy eyes every morning. Of course they didn't. He hid it the best he could. Only his parents noticed the constant depression. All they did was say "Cheer up," and "It'll get better soon." He wanted to know when "soon" would be.
He hated couples. He didn't have friends because they would inevitably find a boyfriend or girlfriend, ditching him in the process while they were in the blissful honeymoon stage. Once again, a glaring reminder of how disposable he was.
Fine.
He would be the one to cut them loose first; minimal contact and then a severance of all ties. He was already bitter from the rejection and abandonment in his past. No reason to add more fuel to the fire.
How could he be happy for a friend when that friend chooses other love interests over him? Because he's too chicken to say that he might love them. But if they had feelings for him, they wouldn't continually choose new partner after new partner while he stayed true and single right? All the while thinking "Why not me? What's wrong with me? Am I not good enough?"
When his friends didn't even try to find out why he stopped calling or going out, he knew he made the right decision to expel a useless person out of his life. No matter how difficult and hurtful it was for him. Nights and weekends he stayed in his room, his safe haven. He buried himself in books, movies, and TV; anything to distract him from the pain. He only ventured out to run errands.
The sadness was starting to spread to his eyes, removing any life they once contained. The loneliness forced his mouth into a constant frown. He knew he was lost. He knew he was creating his own misery; another reason to stay away from people. Nobody wanted to spend time with a buzz-kill. Why force them? He was never in the mood to pretend to be happy. He didn't know how to fix it. Meeting new people he supposed. All the advice was to "Get out and live your life. Have experiences. Try new things." He didn't know how to live. It's an overwhelming prospect. Where do people start the process of living?
Where?