Written largely in the darkness of the night

The battle against the feelings of abject loneliness and emptiness continues. The advice is very often simple (and simplistic): build meaningful relationships with people around you, find fulfilling activities that give your life meaning. Surrounding yourself with people helps create a positive energy flow and prevents depressive thoughts. But what of the quintessential introvert who draws energy from being alone? I try my very best to get out as much as possible, or to find company wherever possible. It gets frustrating when someone who you thought knows you best keeps asking what’s wrong or whether I’m upset about something, when I’m simply being my normal, quiet self. And so, to avoid these unnecessary misunderstandings  I start putting up the chatty, conversational front – talking as much as I can about whatever random thing that comes to mind. At the end of the date, I am completely out of energy and become my quiet self again. A great time out ends on a slightly awkward and subdued note as I am misunderstood to be upset about something. Repeat over and over again.

One of my favourite quotes from Hemingway:

“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself”

I wonder if there are actually people who are as good as spring; who we can truly be ourselves when we’re with them.

And so, the logical realist in me turns to the alternative cause of battling the big D – finding meaning. I throw myself right back into training after a brief respite due to injury, and with the approaching finals it’s the perfect excuse to hole up in the study room in school – alone. I’m probably one of the rare few who dreads the summer break, for it leaves me nothing but empty days.

I re-read the above paragraphs and realise that I sound cynical. That’s the disconnect right there – a literary self-analysis would reveal someone who is writing in a way that puts as much distance as possible between the narrator and the protagonist, in order to create a sense of disconnect between the cold, objective narrative style and the actual feeling of acute sadness experienced by the narrator/protagonist.