Loneliness is a curious thing. It sinks in slowly, and destroys little parts of your soul.
I grew up all alone, without a kind word or a gentle touch. I was starving for human connections, but it was limited or more like none existent, when it comes to my family. Always trying to feel connected, but always left out, being the forever outsider, never belong to anyone.
No one listened to me, my thoughts were unimportant, I was unimportant. Invisible girl on the sidelines, never loved, never cared for.
My Father was a man who was always far away, even when he was in the room, it felt like he wasn't really there. His death did not make a difference either, he was far away when he lived, he was far away when he died.
My Sisters only acknowledge my existence, to say something mean, to make me feel the pain. And then there is my Mother… She is the master of how to break a person's heart. How to make you feel so unloved, that you wish for being erased from existence. Being ignored by her was the worst type of pain, the cold silence she locked me in was my prison. She locked me out of her heart. She wouldn't even realise I was there, I could have stood in front of her, she looked through me like glass. When she decided to look at me, on rare occasions, it was only to insult me, to pour salt on the wound and make the suffering worse. She never cared about what I wanted, taking away my agency over my life was her favourite thing to do. Her insults; they stung, gnawed, burned. Every single word she said showed how much she doesn't love and value me, in her eyes I am useless, worthless, just simply unimportant. My interests are foolish, so am I.
Growing up like this is a special kind of suffering. Being so alone… That nobody cares for you, it is your job to take care of yourself, because no one else would have. If I needed food, I had to prepare it, because no one fed me, when I wanted to learn how to write, because I saw my sisters learning, I had to steel their papers, quill and ink and practice on my own, I had to teach myself to read, memorising the words, trying to figure it out how to spell them, I had to teach myself the arts and numbers, and every skill I know. I was my own teacher and educator. Anything I wanted I had to do for myself, and I did. I was my own cook, teacher, caretaker, parent and I did a good job raising myself up, maybe not the best, I am flawed and I made mistakes, but I was a better Mother to myself than my own, and I count this as a success. I can take care of myself, because no one else would.
No one listens to me, they exist in their own world, which I just don't fit in, and if one doesn't fit in, they have no place, I learned this from friendships. That if I don't follow their ideas who I should be, or if I disagree, I will lose them, and I was afraid, to be lonelier than I was before these friendship. Never let them know who you are, it is not good enough, you are not good enough to be loved as yourself, maybe a few pieces of you.
When I discovered writing the loneliness changed into something else: precious time for practicing the art of words, escaping into realities and far away places, time for my imagination and intelligence to shine. For the first time in my life I felt worthy. I created Lady Whistledown to be everything I am, but not allowed to show, to be everything I hoped to be, all the good parts of me, my mind and creativity, my observant nature, my wit, my talent, and all the bad parts, the ones I was afraid to admit I have, my anger and pain. It was born from the darkest nights, when I cried myself to sleep, when I felt unloved and alone because nobody listened to me, it was born from the suffocating suffering of a young girl.
It is the part of me, a part of my identity, personality, I cannot give up, because I am her and she is me, my strength, my power and intelligence. I cannot cut her out of me, existing without a part of yourself equals death, denying who you are is a sentence for an unfulfilling life, full of resentment. She isn't just a job or a hobby, but my soul, spirit and sharp tongue, my funny remarks, my protective instincts. She isn't my entire personality, but a big piece of it, I can't live without her, I tried and it wasn't life.
I am an author, and as one, I can't live without my writing. Sometimes she did disservice to me, but denying her, denying me did worse. No one can ask a person to cut out a piece of themselves, because it is beneficial for them. Love is supposed to be full acceptance, of all the good and bad things, not just choosing what you want that person to be and form them for their own desires. If you can't accept someone the way they are, the relationship will lead nowhere.
I was unloved and lonely in my entire life, I had to learn to love myself, and to not feel ashamed of who I am: a girl, who did not recognise the power she had, who made mistakes and had to live with them. An author of wonderful words and worlds, a child who did not know what it's like to be loved and cared for, a fighter, a survivor, I've been taking for granted in my entire life but now I am a woman who knows her worth.
I will never forget where I came from, but I will look forward to the life I always wanted, the life I have now.
