I used to think there was a difference between being alone vs being lonely. I used to pride myself on my ability to be alone.
To be independent.
To be comfortable with silence.
To be comfortable with myself.
Now, I’m having trouble finding that distinction. The lines seem to be blurred. What is the difference again? They seem to be one in the same.
It’s 2AM and I am alone. I’m alone on this queen mattress. The world is asleep. I turn the TV to quiet the deafening silence but it doesn’t help.
I am alone.
I am lonely.
In my involuntary solitude the only thing that seems to exist is my depressive thinking; you are not enough. You are unworthy. You are unloved.
The difference doesn’t matter anymore.