Solitude

Seven

My therapist says that even when in the midst of people, one can still be consumed by the overwhelming sense of loneliness. She says it is a feeling created when we fail to connect and more often than not, it is an illusion.

It makes no sense. Then again, half the things she tells me make no sense. Maybe she means loneliness is a trick of the mind sometimes. I mean, I'm well aware of all the people that love me and would do anything for me, so I shouldn't be lonely, right?

Despite the knowledge, the emptiness and dread at the pit of my stomach as I jolt from yet another night terror feels more real than illusion. The ringing in my ears, the fast pace of my heartbeat, my breaths coming out in pants, the swirling of my head... They're all very real. The dread, the panic of being all alone in this big empty world is very real.

I wipe the stray tears off my face as I swing my legs over my bed and just stare at the incomplete drawing on my table. My mom's face stares back at me; a half-drawn smile and eyes that don't look quite solid yet. What wouldn't I give to have her hold me once more?

Beside the drawing is my little clock that tells me it's 3:56a.m. I push it aside and pick up the drawing of my mom along with my pencil and I settle back into bed. I turn on my bedside lamp and pour out my pain and loneliness into the sketch. With each delicate strike of my pencil, I bring the picture to life and allow myself to believe she's sitting opposite me, modelling for me as she used to.

However, she's not here and no amount of imagination can change that!

I feel the frustration well inside of me and the urge to snap my pencil in half and scream as I pull at my hair is strong, but I do none of those things. I just sit still, flip over to a new page and start blindly drawing the first thing that comes to my mind.

Count your blessings, Martha. Let's see... I have a cute dog. That's good. Dogs are great. I have Cece who's only the best person in the entire world. I have my dad. I think he's great. Yah. But that's not enough! I need my mom! I need - fuck! This isn't working.

A single knock on my door thankfully snaps me out of my spiralling thoughts and I look up to the door, only just noticing how bright it is outside. I glance to the clock and to my surprise, it's already past seven.

"Can I come in, baby?" I hear my father's voice and I lazily snap my fingers once. The knob turns, the door opens and there he is, dressed in a button-down shirt on very sad looking grey trousers. His sandy blond hair is in a side part I think makes him look five years older and there are visible dark circles around his eyes.

He walks over to me and I just wordlessly watch him as he looks down at my drawing.

"You're not ready for school?"

I shake my head.

"Mental health break?"

I nod as I offer a weak smile. He reaches over and ruffles my hair fondly.