On being lonely
This is my first post as Arby. That’s the screen name I’ve chosen. I always thought it would be cool to write under a pseudonym. Last night I made a YouTube video on a new anonymous channel, but I wasn’t comfortable talking to a camera and there are other people in the house so it’s hard to record privately. I deleted it. The video and the channel.
So here’s a written version of it.
I want to talk about loneliness. As humans, we’ve never been more connected than we are now. Yet it seems everywhere I look there’s talk of a pandemic of loneliness.
I’m in my late thirties and I have a disability that requires I use a power wheelchair. I have a good life. I have gainful employment. I have hobbies an interests. But all of those things happen in front of a computer screen. I spend so much time in front of my computer screen.
But I feel I have to. My strength is so little that I can barely move my hands. If it were not for the computer and the internet, I don’t think I would have the ability to do anything. At my computer I can write, code, create, read, share...
I’d like to make more friends. But doing it IRL is somewhat difficult. It’s not impossible for me to get out and do things, but it’s not easy either. When I’m out, sometimes that’s when I feel most alone. It feels like my wheelchair creates a moat around me—miles wide and full of menacing crocodiles and flesh-eating fish. No one dare attempt to cross it.
I’m being dramatic...
I do enjoy hanging out with people online. Discord is nice. I like that there’s a server for just about any topic or interest you have. It’s a nice way to connect with people because you immediately have something in common with them.
But I still crave meeting people in a more inimate way. I’ve tried various dating apps. Only people in ads like online dating apps. The rest of us know that they suck. I hate how they make me feel like a product on a shelf. Most of them feel shallow. They are built around showing photos while the good stuff—the about section, interests, ice-breakers, and more that describe who you are as a person—gets pushed aside, relegated to a spot below the fold as it were. The fine print. Imminently skippable. Forgotten.
But I still do it. Because I have this belief that there’s a lonely, nerdy girl somewhere out there. Someone kind with a creative spark who would appreciate my attention and support. Someone else who feels isolated or perhaps intimidated because of the pressures of society that tell us we aren’t good enough.
Why must the both of us go on being lonely when we could be together instead?
Comment privately by emailing me at arby@letterboxes.org.