Isolation (Book #1 of the Taylor Series)

Twenty-Seven

You know that moment in your life when you feel like a complete dick for wondering how your life could get any worse? You're sitting in your bedroom with your computer and phone, and you're suddenly overcome with a feeling of sadness. 

The taste of iron fills my tongue as I clench down on the side of my cheek. I want to cry. Then, I want to hit myself for wallowing in my own self-pity. How could a white, upper-middle-class citizen such as myself even have the right to feel sad?

I've got a roof over my head, food in my fridge, most of my family members are happy and some of them love me. I've got clothes in my closet, the necessary products to keep myself clean, I've got working water, and I'm able to get an applaudable education.

Yet, I've got the nerve to feel bad for myself, the nerve and privilege to think 'Hmm, this actually kind of sucks. I'm really unhappy.'

And why might that be? Because I'm lonely? The answer is yes. 

Yes, yes, yes. I feel alone, I feel like I'd exchange it all for even one of my friends to say hello to me. Who knew that loneliness could feel this bad? I feel cold internally and mentally as if the warmth and love of the people I once knew have disappeared and has been replaced with the cold embrace of loneliness. Not to mention that the cold breeze from the even colder December air has somehow made its way into my bedroom.

How can a day full of love, full of gratefulness for family, be one of the worst days of my life? How can a day as joyful and gay as Christmas Eve be spent in a cold bedroom, with the only warmth coming from my bed? No warmth in my heart, in my thoughts. 

Anybody who'd walk into my bedroom would immediately be able to feel the cold. The coldness of my sorrowful attitude. The coldness of the isolation, the frigid solitariness, the gelid heartbreak, the bleak depression all reside here.

I'm alone. I've got no friends, and I'm alone. My family has failed to notice the change in my demeanor. The warmth of my absence lightens the room downstairs. They're definitely happy that I'm not down there, spoiling the holiday cheer with my snappy attitude. 

In fact, I could see the relief on their faces when I told them that I wasn't feeling up to the holidays this year and that I'd spend the rest of my night up here, in my cold bedroom. I thought I was going to feel better. 

I thought that if I gave into my desire to be alone that maybe I'd feel less alone as crazy as that sounds. It sounds crazy that I thought I would've found comfort in being alone if it were intentional. I didn't find comfort. 

Instead, I found the coldness of the realization that my family is probably happier that I'm not down there right now. All of my friends are probably happy with their families right now, not even noticing or even caring that I might be hating the holidays. I haven't spoken to any of my friends in so long, not even Blake speaks to me anymore.

I'd figured that if he just held on for a little bit longer if he just accepted that my siblings wouldn't let us near each other anytime soon but that'd be okay if he waited it out, that we'd soon get to speak again. After my Mom cooled down; after she realized that I'm actually a good kid, she'd let us speak to each other. 

She might realize that her rule-abiding daughter would never sin. Her daughter would never have sex with an older boy before marriage. It wasn't the case though. Blake didn't hold on.

Instead of coming up to the counter and waiting for me to have a free minute, waiting for my siblings to get distracted by something, or simply listening in to what weird things they had to say, he just started buying coffees and sitting down at the tables. Not even where we usually sit.