An Illustration of Loneliness

I’m going on week six of recovery from the ankle sprain I suffered on Memorial Day Weekend, slowly making strides to gaining mobility and reconnecting with the rest of world in whatever capacity that may be with the current pandemic. I just miss the warmth of the sun on my skin, the fresh air, the weird wonders I can find outside of my studio, taking a simple photo that isn’t a door or window that symbolizes a prison I have found myself stuck in for the past month and a half.

Maybe I’ve done a great job of downplaying how badly I’ve been struggling dealing with this sprain. I have not been in a good spot mentally. I had a panic attack two weeks ago, sometimes I find myself crying throughout the day because I’m overwhelmed with how lonely I feel. I have had very little interaction with the outside world, becoming a little more reliant on social media to provide some sort of connection and falling short when there is radio silence. Luckily I have been texting with a close set of friends I can count on one hand to cheer me up when I am down.

Is this the time to ask for help? Yes. Of course. Logically I am aware of this. Problem is I don’t know how to ask for it. So I sit here, in pain, exercising my ankle so I can walk again instead of stew in a fit of anger of being helpless, feeling alone, and experiencing a petty jealousy that a man I’m in love with will never interact with me because he isn’t as interested as I thought he was as he is with other people. Maybe it’s the loneliness speaking or blunt truth. Who can tell when you’re in a space that’s supposed to be home but has instead become solitary?