The safe home of ‘alone’
Alone. This word that has been my young adult life’s boogie man. This subjective yet generally feared estate to which most people don’t even begin to think about without diving in a pond of angst. I know I used to do that.
Until, dramatic approach aside, I found peace and safety in being alone. For someone who, almost on a daily basis, punishes oneself and forgets to practice self compassion, you might say home is sought only in others. But when I paused the surrounding buzz in my paranoid head, after seeing myself as a pitiful, dependent human being, a feeble-posing dramatic figure I came to despite, I paused it all. I paused the unreasonable thoughts that were like little veins inside my head, growing into a forest of anguish and spite and anger. The noise stopped.
I am not a preacher of isolation and shutting others down. I am a firm believer in the healing powers others have on us. But I do now believe in finding comfort in stopping in the middle of the mental crowd, making people’s existence there disappear and giving a truthful self tight grip. I believe in having yourself solely to rely on, in finding power in detaching from someone at some point, only to find yourself sitting at the doorsteps of what, instead of alone, you can call home.