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Category: Mental Health

It Is Lonely Here

Published October 19, 2025 by thewriterlyroad_2o62in

That it is lonely here/but not alone/and on the telephone/you offer reassurance.

Those lyrics are from the song “I Will Not Take These Things For Granted” by Toad the Wet Sprocket (who came up with that name?). I know I’m not alone in this world. I have people who love me, and I share my kindness and compassion every day as a form of love. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t miss having a companion. It’s been twenty-two years since I was divorced, and I’ve only had one date since. That singular event was a disaster: the man couldn’t have made it clearer that he didn’t want a relationship and was an emotional infant.

I find myself moving on in years, and I wonder if I will ever have a chance at coupledom again. I’m not interested in the dating sites; I tried them early on and didn’t have any luck. Besides, I like meeting people face-to-face, not online. The whole experience feels impersonal, and most men I’ve encountered don’t believe in leaving something to the imagination. I don’t ever want to see another dick pic. I don’t want people to lie to me so they can get me into bed. 

Experts tell us that loneliness is a part of the human condition, an event to expect regularly like the changing of the seasons. Loneliness has shown up in various forms in my life: being at a party but feeling separate from everyone, unable to find one soul to share stories with. Working as a nurse and pouring out all I have to help others, while realizing no one is caring for me. Being in a marriage and becoming aware that your partner has you low down on his list of priorities.

I have never felt so alone as when I was with someone.

When I was younger, loneliness felt like a failure, as if I wasn’t doing enough to make connections with people. I believed that I shouldn’t experience loneliness; that was a feeling reserved for older people and those who lived out in the middle of nowhere. I had a larger circle of friends then, so I didn’t work hard to find new ones because I didn’t need to. The loneliness would fade as soon as I met up with a buddy. If I spent a prolonged period of time alone, I knew it was temporary. I would be out again with my cycling group, rehearsing with my band, or meeting for lunch within days.

Now I know how foolish I was. I can’t escape loneliness, but I fear it less now. Having a block of time to myself feels like a gift. I can fill my emotional well and find peace on a quiet afternoon in the park, lying in the grass and reading a book under the shade of a giant oak. I can listen to music while I make soup from scratch. I can leave my cell phone behind while I take a walk with my dog, Harper.

So it can be lonely here, but I am not alone. I have myself.

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The Dark Well

Published October 14, 2022 by thewriterlyroad_2o62in

For the past few months, I have been depressed. If I’m being honest, my despair extends beyond the past few months. The negative, persistent thoughts that lead me to the edge of the dark well of depression have hounded me mercilessly since childhood. Any attempt to flee from them is futile.

I have been diagnosed with clinical depression three times in my life. Traumatic events seem to thwart my brain’s ability to regulate the neurotransmitters that keep my mood and emotions in balance. Each time, I fell into the dark well. Each time, it took medications and months of therapy to push the reset button on my mind’s circuitry.

This time feels different (do I say this to myself every time I get depressed?). Before, I had youth on my side and enough naivete to convince myself that things always get better eventually. Now I’m on the other side of forty and have less of an emotional support system. I do have a small circle of close friends I’ve known since my late teens and early twenties. They are a consistent and solid foundation that keeps me from losing my sense of security in a world where sometimes I cannot find my way. But I am also alone now more than ever. I find it hard to make new friends even though I think of myself as outgoing and gregarious. I find that I want to isolate myself at home and avoid people.

I know the desire to retreat is because of those voices that tell me I am not enough, not worthy, and why would anyone want to interact with you anyway? They are insidious and relentless, and it becomes impossible to discern whether or not they are helping or hurting me. If I pull back the lens to take an aerial view, I can see they want to take me down and are actively planning my destruction. But my vision is blurry and unfocused when I’m back here on the ground. That’s the fucked up thing about depression: I know the voices are lying, but I keep listening to them.

Even if I can’t stop them, I try to quiet them down. Amid my sadness, I looked out my window and saw that some of the trees near my building were changing colors in response to the Fall. Several of them are primarily green, but the tops are brilliant red. Why does that happen? I ask myself. I stare in wonder and realize that I am looking for hope. I want to be hopeful.

Today, this reality is enough to keep me going. I will step away from the dark well.

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