The loneliness in my heart is starting to take its toll. It’s getting harder and harder each day to chase away that emptiness. I find myself resorting to cheap tricks.

“Pewwwww…pew pew!” That’s the sound of the death ray. What I’m shooting at, I have no clue.

No, I don’t drink away my worries or anything. Nor do I do drugs or masturbate like a mad man. Instead, I listen to my music on high volume and I sing as though I were drunk. I can’t sing, and I know it (because I recorded myself and played it back) but I do it anyway. I lose myself in my music and belt out the lyrics to my heart’s content. I dance fruity little jigs to my oldies because I have no clue how people are supposed to dance to that sort of music (I checked on YouTube).

When I start feeling that hopeless hollowness, I desperately run to a television show. Usually I’ll watch something funny, like Two and a Half Men. I lose myself in the dramas and comedies of other people’s lives for as long as I remain conscious. I panicked when I finally caught up to the latest episode of a television show and went on a search for other old shows that I can watch for hours on end without stopping. I binge on mindless entertainment. It becomes my opiate.

Those moments when I have neither music nor TV show to distract myself are the moments I dread. It’s when I have to go take a leak that worries me. I don’t want to dwell on my past, I don’t want to imagine my lonely future, and I don’t want to feel what’s going on in my life right now. So I whistle. I whistle loudly. And I think to myself, “Hey, at least I can whistle. Boy, I’m one helluva whistler. I could’ve whistled for Ennio Morricone.”

I’ve gotten pretty decent at distracting my mind. But it gets tiresome. I was never much of a runner. I’m a sprinter. I haven’t got the endurance to go the distance. Those little tiny moments when I can’t keep my feelings at bay, they build up. They accumulate, little by little. And the damndest thing is that it builds up interest like a bank. A little piece of my sanity chips away, day by day. Given enough time in this condition, I’m sure something will give way and I’ll be a couple sandwiches short of a picnic basket.

When I go to the kitchen to boil tea, and I’m filling up the kettle, I take the knob of the lid between my knuckles and fashion it as a satellite dish aimed by pointing my fist. “Pewwwww…..pew pew…” That’s the sound of the death ray. What I’m shooting at, I have no clue, but it sure beats standing around waiting for the kettle to be filled.

Some days, I feel like I’m caving in. I feel the decaying of my spirit, and the burden of loneliness feels too heavy to bear. I realize that I have been lonely for a very long time. I haven’t opened up to anyone in a very long while. I haven’t been emotionally intimate with anyone for…well, ever. Even the strongest have their moment of fatigue. As strong as my spirit is, I’m getting to the point of certain insanity. I invent conversations between a Russian, an Englishman, and a Cuban. These three gentlemen discuss their respective cultural viewpoints on things like women, dating, and politics. Not only do I invent such ludicrous conversations, complete with unique personalities, I also speak them aloud. In their respective accents too. I’m quite convinced that I’ve gone utterly mad.

As much as I fancy myself a lone wolf, I’m finding my alienation from society to be increasingly difficult to handle. Man is a social creature, there’s no denying that. Emotional intimacy is what I lack, and it’s something I highly value. To me, having a girlfriend isn’t about having access to a pair of breasts that I can manhandle, or a shapely ass to grab. It’d be nice if she had beautiful eyes to gaze into, but really, I don’t give two hoots about any of that. I just want to love a woman who loves me, to dote on her and to care for her. I just want a woman to open up to, someone I can be vulnerable and honest with, someone I don’t have to keep a facade up for. I have nobody to share with. I’m a walking fucking cliche: I have so much love to give and nobody to give it to. I’m sure I’ve got lots of baggage, and hell, it’s getting plenty heavy. Not that I’m looking for a woman to become my pro bono therapist…but you know, it’s nice to have someone who’s there for you no matter what happens, to have someone to open up to when things get rough. Intimacy, that’s the word of the day.

It’s not entirely necessary to have that romance…but at the very least I wish I could find like-minded friends. The trouble is that I’m not very good at keeping acquaintances. I’m too “intense” a person to shoot the shit with. And because I care about the quality of the people I surround myself with, it can be a little difficult to find the right ones.

But to be honest, I know that I’m only temporarily insane. This loneliness is something that I hold on to. Maybe it’s even something that I seek out. Why? I’ll explain that in an upcoming post. That is if I don’t get sent sectioned.