The loneliness of being alone

I consider myself lucky. I have an extremely close and loving family, as well as countless wonderful friends who have and continue to lend me support. This has provided a measure of comfort, without which I don’t know how I would be functioning. Yet despite all these people in my life and living among millions of New Yorkers, I exist day-to-day with a powerful sense of loneliness and persistent undirected feeling.

Not long ago, two months a two days to be precise, I felt happier then I ever thought I could. Indeed, there were times when I actually felt guilty because things were going so well in my life. I had a good job, nice apartment, and was healthy. Most importantly there was Karen. Each day with her was, quite literally, better than the previous and it would be impossible for me to put into words the woman she was or to describe what we had together. It was amazing and to become even better, if that were possible, with James. But all that is gone now.

Walking has always been something I enjoyed doing, it is one of the wonderful things about living in New York City. Often after work I would walk through the city, sometimes for up to an hour all the way to the bottom of Manhattan before getting on the subway. I used to move with the joyous, floating steps of a man in love and happy with his lot. I reveled in the sights and sounds of the city, taking in and adding to the surge of energy around me.

Now I walk with the heavy gait caused by grief and sadness. No longer do I delight in being amidst the flow of other pedestrians. Rather I find myself following close to the edges of the buildings, avoiding the crowds and paths of those around me. The liveliness of New York still flows around me, but I do not absorb it. It swirls past me as if I were an eddy on the sidewalk. Try as I might to keep my shoulders straight and chin up, I slump with my eyes fixed to the concrete in front of my feet. When I do look up, my gaze invariably lands on a couple or family happily going about their life. At that moment my grief is replaced with envy and jealousy. Envious because that was what I only recently had and jealous because it was all taken from me. The question infuses my mind - Why do they get to have that when I don’t anymore? There is no answer, but the thought brings back the heartache and sadness. I focus my eyes on the sidewalk again, pull my coat a bit tighter around myself, and angle closer to the building. None of this brings any comfort, and only helps to navigate the new world in which I find myself.

Despite the comfort of my apartment, I am reluctant to come back to it because I know Karen will not be waiting for me and never coming home again. This means that my walks can be long, sometimes several miles in length, providing me with hours of time to contemplate what has happened. What I return to again and again is that even with people all around me – family, friends and strangers a like – I am alone. There is no life for me to "get on with" so now I move from one day to the next with only the memory of the hopes, plans, and dreams I once held. My joie de vivre replaced by loneliness.