You don’t realize how alone you are, how few friends have left you, all at once.
It hits in waves.
When you want to try a new coffee shop and the only person that crosses your mind is busy. The rest, you think, you haven’t been in touch with in a long time. They haven’t been in touch either. It wouldn’t make sense to reach out now. So you don’t try to.
When you want to watch a new movie and the only other person who might be interested is someone you haven’t spoken to in years. They haven’t spoken to you in years too. So you go alone.
When you see pictures of people you thought you were friends with on social media and wonder why you’re not there with them. So you decide to do something to distract yourself.
When you want to celebrate a milestone or a birthday and decide not to. Because it’s not really worth it to throw a party for just three people when others throw parties with tens and hundreds.
When your thoughts start to consume you, and you have no one to share the storm in your mind with. So you let it thunder and pour, eventually washing over you.
When you find yourself clinging to the people that are left, afraid you’d lose them too.
It is small, individual moments of realization that make you ask yourself: whatever happened to this friend or that, and push you to check a chat and see a message left on read, a promise to catch up that has faded, or discover that someone has moved away.
But eventually, it is also the realization that being alone doesn’t always mean being lonely.
And that’s okay.
