“I close my eyes and I let my body shut itself down and I let my mind wander. It wanders to a familiar place. A place I don’t talk about or acknowledge exists. A place where there is only me. A place that I hate.
I am alone. Alone here and alone in the world. Alone in my heart and alone in my mind. Alone everywhere, all the time, for as long as I can remember. Alone with my family, alone with my friends, alone in a room full of people. Alone when I wake, alone through each awful day, alone when I finally meet the blackness. I am alone in my horror. Alone in my horror.
I don’t want to be alone. I have never wanted to be alone. I fucking hate it. I hate that I have no one to talk to. I hate that I have no one to call. I have that I have no one to hold my hand, hug me, tell me everything is going to be all right. I hate that I have no one to share my hopes and my dreams with. I hate that I no longer have any hopes or dreams. I hate that I have no one to tell me to hold on, that I can find them again. I hate that when I scream, and I scream bloody murder, that I am screaming into emptiness. I hate that there is no one to hear my scream and that there is no one to help me learn how to stop the screaming. I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness lives in a pipe or a bottle. I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness is killing me, has already killed me, or will kill me soon. I hate that I will die alone. I will die alone in my horror.
More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to be close to someone.
More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to feel as if I wasn’t alone.”
– James Frey, A Million Little Pieces, pgs 79-80