Sob Story of a Lonely Youth

"I wish we could stay here forever." It seems like everyone knows this phrase. It's in the sobby vocals of your favorite cry-in-the-car song, in the not-so-subtle messages of young teenage Disney movies talking about "enjoying your youth," and it's probably something your parents and your parents' parents tell you every Christmas. Maybe that's just me, though. I haven't ever taken the thought seriously, as I'm 21, and the world moves by so fast it's hard to see the memories in the motion blur. In the middle of college, you're so wrapped up in you and your friends' tomfoolery and how you're going to afford your next 2 A.M. trip to TacoBell, or the daunting grades on your desktop that you refuse to look at until you're two weeks from the end of the semester and the vicious cycle of procrastination finally catches up with you. Soon, you're stripping off your hoodies for crops and your sweatpants for shorts, afternoons going out to the bar or sitting inside watching home movies with your buddies next door turn to playing video games inside to avoid the heat or swimming in the pool for an hour and then getting out almost as quick when you feel yourself morphing into a raisin. 

I don't know if it's evident, but I have never found the summer to be that enjoyable. I live in Texas, and well, the heat is more like a deathray than it is a gentle dose of vitamin D. The plants are crispy and bent, the grass is yellow and parched, and it feels like you're wearing a suit of sweat whenever you step outside whatever poorly air-conditioned building you've found yourself in. In the past, it really only ever felt like an inconvenience. I had plenty of friends to hang out with, which made whatever grotesque sun hickey I would inevitably gain on my shoulders worth it. 

I moved two summers ago, or well, my family did. I was in college, so it didn't affect me too much. Last summer, I had my bouts of loneliness as I didn't know anyone in my new town, but I had a couple of vacations with friends to look forward to. It suppressed that little voice in the back of my head for the time being. Then summer came and went, and I was back in school once more. Then school came and went, and I'm back at home with the dead air and the lack of social avenues. I don't have anything planned this summer; everything I was looking forward to has fallen through. To note, I have many online friends (all of whom have been preoccupied with each other as they live in the same area) and whatever physical friends I have don't live anywhere near me. "I'm social enough" I keep telling myself, "I can figure it out." I got a summer job at a cafe as kitchen staff, making sandwiches and wraps till my hands start to cramp and my legs tighten into knots. The staff is fine, but my boss is a 6 foot child with a beard and a short fuse. It keeps me occupied despite my complaints. With whatever free time I have, I find myself in nature, taking photos of cool rocks and cypress trees. To my parent's credit, we did move to a prettier part of Texas… but it was still Texas. I've always been more of a mountain person.

In all of this, the loneliness is ever present. It stares at me from the dense foliage of cedar and ash on my nightly walks, stalks me when I step into the shower to let the hot water burn symbols into my skin, sits at the edge of my bed when I pointlessly try to sleep and every time I look at my clock the hours become more and more sickening and it curls into my covers and burrows its way into my chest. It's a revolting creature. Eyes sunken and empty, skin stretched paper thin over bones that grow just a little too long, mouth covered by lumps of vitriolic black flesh that could be a part of its original design or something it had acquired in its century long task of haunting mortal souls. It's the only consistent company I have found in the long, blistering days of "summer fun." 

I try to combat it with little house chores, putting away my dishes, cleaning my room, washing my clothes, things like that. Sometimes I take my dog on walks. Sometimes I call my boyfriend. It all works like a drug; powerful the first time but progressively less effective the more you indulge. The monster in the corner of my brain has begun to refurbish. I can feel it setting up shop there, in that little dark groove that I try to suppress. It and the loneliness get along just fine. I'm sure they have depressing little tea parties, conversing about how much of a slug I am. "She didn't brush her teeth today, you know" The monster would sneer. "Her friends are all offline. I'm sure they have better things to do than talk to her." Loneliness would nod, folding scissor hands over each other in some distasteful semblance of elegance. 

It seems they have always been here. Talking like old friends. Muted in the hustle and bustle of my life back in Uni. I never did have a moment of silence, what with parties and exams stealing my focus, to give them any attention. Now with my social life as still as the atmosphere I think I have realized that… that they have always been there. 

I can hear them now as my fingers dance along the coarse texture of my truck's steering wheel. They're talking about how I have missed several doctor appointments and have yet to reschedule them. My eyes drift to the window, watching as I pass a sea of flaxen yellow. The wheat extends towards the strawberry sky, soft tufts drifting in the wind. I focus on the stratus clouds that have blanketed the horizon in a watercolor of rich, flaming orange and red on a background of violet kissed cobalt. I can see the setting sun peek at me from above the stretches of farmland. She's soft today, working with the breeze to gently toss my hair to and fro as I drive down the endless tar mat. Her heat feels like a lover's embrace.

I pull the car over to a nearby dirt road, feeling the tires kick into gear as I go. The rocks ding against various thingamabobs below me, but I don't fear injury. Their bumps are ones of delight and childish mischief, rather than a torrent of jagged edges threatening to tear me apart. I find a clearing where the grass is soft and welcoming, parking my car a small ways from it before unbuckling and moving to the back. I sweep up the little woven basket I had packed and the other various items I had brought on this journey and make my way over. 

It takes a couple of tries to unfold my blanket correctly, and my little electric lamp was dimmer than I wanted, but I sit down and unpack everything regardless. A sandwich I had made for myself at work, a bottle of freshly squeezed lemonade, a handful of books, and a journal. I lay everything out before me and cross my legs, facing towards the soft red glow on the horizon. 

I sit there and cry for a long, long time.

It's quiet and brutal and aching, every tear reverberating through my brittle bones. My throat becomes dry and swollen, my shirt sticks to my chest, my hands are shaking. It's a ravenous sort of sobbing that I had been forcing down my gut every night in defiance. Every breath is desperate, my lungs burn. For a moment the creatures plaguing me have complete say. They are free to speak as they wish with no retaliation from me. And what they have to say is vile. The type of vindictiveness I would never utter to my worst enemy, no matter how much they had wronged me. The type of corrosive behavior acid plays on everything it touches. But no matter how much it hurts, no matter how desperately I want to reach my nails into my mind and rip out every bleeding neuron, I let the wave continue to overtake me. Beating and beating until my tear ducts ran dry and I'm left in a pile of my own disdain. 

I hold my hands to my chest, to my shoulders, until I am wrapping my arms completely around myself. I sit there in the silent aftermath. Basking in it. Relishing the cold breeze that kisses my soaked face. I put my hands out in front of me, counting down my breathing. "In." I say to myself, lifting my pointer finger, then my ring, then so on. "Out." I breathe, repeating the process in reverse. "In…" I say again, closing my eyes. One. Two. Three. Four. Five… "Out." I exhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five… My sleeves rise to my eyes to gently wipe away the wetness on my face, finally feeling my breathing return to normal. My body is an aching vessel… but I am alive. 

I stare up at the glistening night sky, watching each and every star shimmer thousands upon thousands of light years away. Loneliness sits beside me, quiet now. It stares up just the same. We lay there together in silence until the moon dances down to the horizon and the darkness of the sky begins to wane into a marshmallow blue. A silly phrase echoes into my mind… "I wish we could stay here forever." It's almost funny, considering how awful I had felt until this moment. But it's true. For now, my mind is quiet, and I can feel the soil beneath my fingers. I know I will find myself echoing the same cycle of debilitating self-mutilation, and then summer will be over, and I will be back in the blur of life. I won't think about this again until another drought of activity comes along. But for now, in this tiny, inconsequential moment, I feel peace.