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Kyle's avatar

Once, I saw a handful of old high-school friends at a concert. James Blake was on tour after the release of his studio album "Assume Form." This was into my second or third year of college. I was chronically lonely and depressed, desperately looking for some form of meaningful social connection that could nourish my emotional health. It was school, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Nothing else in between. I knew they were going to be in attendance. At some point, we had crossed paths. We briefly chatted about what we had been up to thus far in college, how our lives had been. I was so bubbly with excitement that I almost couldn't contain how content I was to see the familiar faces of old friends that I identified with. They were my cherished childhood friends that I loved. For whatever reason, they didn't reciprocate those feelings of joy that I had. I was gladly informing them of how happy I was to see them again, but I could tell in their mannerisms and body language, they appeared awkward and uncomfortable from me being there. We had talked about hanging out after James' performance, they were tiptoeing at inviting me. We initially agreed to all meet at a nearby bar, but when the time arrived, I was the only one present there. Drinking by myself. I had phoned them asking where they were, and none of them answered.

It was a significant heartbreak, more so than any romantic heartbreak I experienced. I was severely melancholic after that experience. It uprooted my sense of self in connection with others and the rest of the world. I've had many similar experiences like that. You realize that your sense of the past and your relationship with reality is merely a smokescreen. I told myself, "Not only do I not have any friends. But the ones that I thought I had weren't my friends at all. They were my false friends." It was hard for me to grapple with. I'm still internalizing it.

Now, I'm just learning to be alone without being alone, to be comfortable in discomfort, and to seek real connections in places where they can be cultivated. Even if I were to surround myself with circles of seemingly beautiful and tasteful people, I know it's not a qualitatively good experience. Just because you share physical space doesn't mean you share an emotional one. When I'm feeling the most melancholic and depressed, I feel as if a filthy glass window, or a wide gulf, has been placed in between me and the rest of the world and it's impossible for me to relate to everyone on the outside world. I'm only observing from a distance and becoming absorbed in my own pain. All the wisdom I've attained is evaporating, and I'll never learn anything new. On better days, I'm meeting people and getting to know them. My condition and experiences can be an instrument through which I can discover compassion and beauty that I didn't know existed in unexplored depths of emotional experience.

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Ruth's avatar

Starting over after a major life transition is like tossing the Scrabble board, when you are winning, and you want to start over but the game is in Italian instead. I have to teach myself the language well enough to pick out the new Italian words, and hopefully have a great time in the process. Returning to places of my transition hasn’t been easy, but I always go, and I go forward. I first heard your TED talk, and I knew I wasn’t alone. Thank you!

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