On Loneliness

Being lonely is something that I have dealt with for the majority of my life.

I’ve been fortunate to have loving and supportive family members throughout my life who have been there to reel me back in with loving affirmation when the emotional turbulence has become too much to bear. Unfortunately, though, there are sometimes situations where loved ones can only do so much. The instances in which I’ve felt most alone have been in some way related to segmented, peer-based experiences: meaning that while the safety and reassurance of a nurturing parental bubble feels good, in order to live and function in the world as a productive member of society, the bubble must be exited as one ages into adulthood.

Loneliness has manifested itself in several ways as I’ve grown, changed, and experienced different aspects of life. When you’re younger, loneliness, really any feeling, is easier to chalk up to being an evolving human being. In this stage of life, emotions and feelings are believed to be less substantive — whatever you’re going through at the time is said to be a hormonal driven “phase.” But people questioning the legitimacy of someone’s thoughts and feelings, discrediting one’s experience rather than attempting to understand it, can make coping that much more challenging. 

This has lead me to believe that loneliness, although a universal feeling, manifests in a variety of different ways depending on the circumstances of our unique identities.

I grew up as an adopted black kid raised by a white family in a predominantly white area of New York. Most of my peers came from sheltered, conservative upbringings. Because of this, I was continuously subjected to stereotypical comments about my race and skin color: assumptions that I knew the name of every rapper, (even though I primarily grew up listening to alternative rock, pop punk, and screamo) and jokes like “Where did Caleb go? We can’t find him!” Even those who called themselves friends would routinely say outlandish things about other ethnic groups and assume it wouldn’t affect me because I wasn’t really black. I was anoreo” as they dubbed me several times, in what I would now describe as an attempt to distance me from my own blackness.

As I grew up and gained more self-confidence, I began speaking up for myself. Nowadays, I have removed most of these toxic figures from my life and have moved on to focusing on myself and my goals. The process of solidifying one’s identity can be a lifelong journey, it is a journey I am still on, and each person should have the right to experience that journey without denigration.

Beyond my peer experiences of my youth, much of the loneliness that I’ve experienced in the last several years as an adult has been a result of a decision that I made. Even though I believe that this decision — moving across the country to a city where I did not know a soul in pursuit of a dream and personal growth — was one of the best decisions that I have made in my twenty-two years, it has not been without sacrifice. I have made wonderful, hopefully lifelong friends, and been able to experience things that I could previously never have imagined, altering my trajectory in an irreversible and impactful way. The relationships that I’ve formed, as well as the the opportunities and experiences that have come into my life, are things that seemed outside of the realm of possibility in the place where I grew up. My eyes have been opened to previously unexplored aspects of the human experience and my mind has expanded based on those realities.

All that said, even though I’ve had great fun in this new environment, it’s served as only a temporary suppression of the very the very human fears and concerns that, at some point, will infiltrate our consciousness. Regardless of my numerous attempts to lock these fears out, they always seem to have their own key.

Over the holidays I went back home, and although it was only for a couple of weeks, it was the longest period of time I’d been home in months. Seeing family was nourishing for my soul, and I am truly grateful for those weeks. After my trip home had concluded, I sat on the first of several flights to return to where I am as I write this, an apartment in Southern California. I tried my best to hold it together, and I did, at first. I eventually could not contain myself, however, and the tears erupted from my eyes as another passenger in my row slept peacefully in the window seat. It was at this point that I realized my attempt to suppress the sadness I felt was ultimately pointless. I cried because even though I was trying to tough it out, the reality of leaving my family meant returning to the ever-looming solitude of the recent past. It was an early flight, so the cabin lights were turned off, concealing me in darkness as I wept.

This was a couple of months ago, and I have since been in a brighter place, but throughout my life loneliness is something that I have never been able to completely shake. Being relegated to expressing sorrow in silence is something that has long plagued me as a black male who often felt that society had specific predetermined expectations for who I should be, and how my experience relates to others. An expectation to be hyper-masculine at all times, and to reject ever displaying anything that could be interpreted as weakness. 

As a teenager, I can remember countless instances where my sexuality was called into question by peers because I spoke, and specifically dressed, in a certain style. Not only is this harmful because it shames those who might choose to explore self-expression in a personal way, but in turn, it also tries to compartmentalize something as complex as human sexuality into unrelated yet equated quantifiers, whose only basis is in stereotypes and ignorance. Thankfully, in recent times a clear transition has begun to take place. Openly expressing emotion has slowly become more accepted, even encouraged.  But this was not always the case.

Today I am comfortable expressing that I have a great fear associated with death. Furthermore, as an individual who does not know if there is anything beyond this life, and who has spent a great amount of time doubting that there is, my primary focus has been living my life in a manner where I can express myself as freely as possible, while empowering others to do the same. The older I get the more focused I’ve become on spending time with people I feel truly value me; my family, my closest friends, and those who are committed to making the world a more accepting and loving place for all.

I want to tell anyone reading this that it’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to think about how much time you have left with people and how best to spend it. It’s okay to feel like you don’t belong. It’s okay to be vulnerable. No matter where you fall along the spectrum of gender and sexuality, it’s okay to be emotional, to cry. It’s okay to fear being alone. Irrespective of your race, gender identity, sexuality, religion, or whatever you self-identify as, you should feel free to be yourself, and not feel as though you are being externally relegated to solitude or alienation based on who you are. I would not wish the loneliness that myself and countless other possess on anyone. For all I know, many of us may never stop feeling it, but I hope whoever reads this, no matter who you are, finds comfort knowing that they are not in pain alone, I stand here as an ally for you and with you.

Much love.