I have felt alone

Demons, depression, and surprising hope.

TW: Mental illness, despair, loneliness.

If you aren’t up for that today, I get it. I’ll catch you next week.

The Avett Brothers, a band I love, has a song called “We Are Loved”. One of the most beautiful lines, that has been important to me, is: “I have felt alone, but I have never been.” I’ve thought about these words a lot, and what they mean.

Who or what is it that is with me so that, even when I’ve felt alone, I haven’t been alone? Is it some divine something that rests in and with me all the time? Is it that I have family and friends that love me, even when I don’t see or talk to them often if ever? Even if I talk to them every day? Is it that I am able to be my own partner, knowing and loving myself? Is it that I have a child, someone I would call my person even though I’m sure I’m only one of his people, as it should be. Is it you?

Do I believe I’ve never been alone? I’m not so sure.

I would like to believe I believe it.

This really isn’t about just me. It’s about us,

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve lost two family members.

I think that they both experienced aloneness and, I’m almost positive, loneliness. Just like we all have.

I didn’t know either of them well. But my family is tight and so we love and support each other. And so, they were mine.

However, sometimes no amount of love can chase the demons away. Not theirs, not ours.

No matter how we think we know each other, no one can know our hearts so fully that they can see into each corner, especially the ones behind the wall called loneliness. I think we think we can know one another that deeply, wall be damned. But we can’t. And that can become so overwhelmingly painful that our lives are changed because of it. We can become smaller and tighter and more protective. We can become numb.

But I don’t think we stop there. Our calling as human beings is to be so vibrant with love and hope that it is surprising. Surprising enough to transform a person’s heart. Surprising enough to reach into dark places and say, “it’s ok. I’ve got you”. Surprising enough to believe that there is something possible for us, and that something is belonging.

I want to be really careful here. Each person’s life is their own and we cannot force anyone to change or believe a certain way or feel a certain way. Someone can be loved with a huge love and still feel unloved. Someone can be included in life in welcoming and compassionate ways and still not feel like they belong. Still feel broken.

And that is no-ones fault. Not theirs, not ours.

When I was in college and into my early married and mother life, I was very trapped in depression. I tried to mask it and I was over functioning, for sure. I called my depression the abyss and I met her every day when I woke up and said good night to her every time I went to bed. Which was often. Sleeping was the hallmark of our relationship.

I’ve thought about her, my depression, more recently, as I’ve heard many of my beloveds talk about our current climate and the great fear and overwhelm that they are experiencing. My broader community is mired in depression and it’s not looking great for us.

This situational depression can cause great pain and can become so loud that if one reads the news or hears the story of war, they find they cannot navigate life. And, if someone is prone to a broader mental illness, one can find that they don’t know why they should.

As I write this, I am clear about how sad it is, how lonely we are, and how much despair rolls from our broken hearts each day.

But I also have to believe that there is hope – even if it will only come when we build the connection of light that moves heart to heart to protect and inspire. If we do not sing songs of love to one another, there will not be love. If we do not move the boulder of loneliness to the side for the one who cannot do it themselves, there will not be hope. If we do not blow on the embers of apathy, there will not be action.

It really is up to us.

Which is why I have hope. I believe in us.

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Those of you who…

I started writing these next words a while ago. They are limited in scope which is where I hope you will come in. Who would you list here? Please add your own “Those of you who…” sentence in the comments. (See my examples below). Let’s honor all of us as we remind one another that, although we have felt loneliness, we are not alone.

For you:

Those of you who can’t sleep. Who have minds that won’t turn off. Who are second and third guessing what you said, who you are, your life choices, your future.

Those of you who are tossing and turning on sidewalks and park benches.

Those of you nursing your child in the dark.

Those of you who work when the night begins. Who are judged for that work. Who risk your lives, night after night.

Those of you watching something, anything, until you fall asleep so you can feel like someone in conversation.

Those of you who are in pain all the time, who dance with the demon of mental illness, who sing with the sirens of physical pain.

Those of you who have faced the evils of this world: racism, gun violence, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, domestic violence, systemic destruction, ablism, patriarchy in all its insidiousness and misogyny in all its shadows, Christian nationalism, individualism, hate, trauma (to name a few).

You are not alone.