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I have been thinking about being alone. Not loneliness, some of my most lonely times were when I was in a relationship. But actually, just being alone.

In a weird way it helps to think about other people being alone. Like, I know we are all alone, but we are alone together. I know none of this is particularly insightful.

But when I am falling asleep at night, I lie in bed, and I stare up at the ceiling. And I think about the thousands of times that I have laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to someone breathing and asleep next to me. And I realized that I was just as alone then as I am now.

No matter how happy or serious my relationship is, I’m always going to be lying in bed, awake, and alone with my thoughts. And sometimes, I like being alone with my thoughts. Some of them aren’t even things I can share anyway.

And that also got me thinking about dying. Lying in bed alone in the dark makes me think about dying fairly often. I’m not afraid of dying. Mortality is just an interesting subject to me. And I enjoy speculating.

What if you are still self aware after you die? But you have no ability to influence your surroundings. It would be like being a table. It would be like lying in bed, alone in the dark forever.

Which brings me back to the point I was originally wanted to make. Ultimately, we are all going to be alone in the end. Death is a journey we will all have to make alone.

I don’t mean this to sound scary or depressing. In fact, I think it is just the opposite. I like to imagine it as an adventure into the unknown. Not something to be afraid of. Even if there is no consciousness there, I’m fine with that.

Nothingness won’t hurt. Not existing didn’t bother me before I was born and it won’t bother me after I die. But we won’t know until we get there.

It’s one of the absolute last unexplored frontiers. We’re all like Lewis and Clark on an expedition to discover America. (I’m Lewis, the depressed one). We just don’t have a way to report back our findings the way they did. Death is more unknown that the deepest oceans of planet Earth and more mysterious than the universe.

I am fascinated by the idea of something so unknown and mysterious. And knowing that someday, I will 100% know what happens with absolute certainty when we die. I may not be able to report back to anyone else. But I will know for me. And while I am not in any rush to find out, I am very curious to know. Someday.



I know I thought I was done with it, but I have been thinking about suicide a lot lately. I have been feeling pretty depressed. I don’t know if it is the time of year, or the book I have been reading about suicide.

I just keep thinking about how awful my year was last year. And how alone I am. Not just alone for the holidays that have passed, but alone in general.

I’m single. And I’d be okay with being single if I had a family that was close, or reliable, or just not bad people. But I don’t have that.

And I’d be okay with being single and having an awful family, if I had really good, reliable friends. But I don’t have that either.

Most of my friends are good people. But they also have their own problems. And they don’t really have much time for me.

I keep wishing I could just throw my depression and feelings back into that locked room in my head. And I can. But that’s not what this past year has been about. All this stuff was so much easier to deal with when I wasn’t dealing with it.

I know this suicide stuff is just my brain malfunctioning again. I feel so detached from it sometimes now. The suicidal ideation comes and I know it isn’t me that wants that. And I think “Here are my thoughts of suicide, but I already know I want to be alive.”

And then I tell myself that my brain is lying to me again. And eventually I start feeling better. As intense as my suicidal ideation is sometimes, I also feel like it is happening somewhere far away.

Like my brain is sending me postcards from Europe. Usually they are happy and upbeat. Sometimes they are deep and philosophical. Other times they are amusing or interesting. And, a few, times a year, they are depressed and suicidal.

But those postcards don’t compel me to act in any way. I can just read them. Think about them. And then continue on with my life. Thinking of it that way is really helpful.