I wonder if everyone ultimately feels alone in this world when they contemplate it. Loneliness haunts me always, but I wonder if it isn't something especially tragic about my life but is just a neutral fact about existence as a being. It is impossible to share all of the complexity of the lives that happen in each of our heads. Constant, extensive narratives and threads of thought that are so vast and full of minutiae that they eventually form something too enormous to share in the discrete smallness of words. It's just not possible to escape that, right? The best we can do is make some peace with it, if we did not have that already, and find people who seem to intuit enough of our essences to make us feel close enough to merged to feel content.
Still the loneliness of what I experience and my inability to really explain what I live, the lack of control I have over vital parts of my life, make me feel sometimes lately that I wish I could find peace by moving inside to my own safe expanse, shedding the inconvenience and maintenance of a body; the disappointment and disappointing that come with being me. If only that place, not actually separate from my body, were as safe as I dream.
I have few thoughts that haven't been had by so many, many other people. My urge to share despite how plain I am both tortures me with a strange guilt, and makes me feel some connection to a common journey.