The loneliest person I know

15 January 2009
3:50 a.m.


I was sitting in front of my blinking screen this afternoon at work when I suddenly became lightheaded. “Whoa, what am I dizzy for?” I thought. Then I felt a familiar pain on my chest, as if something heavy were pressing down on me.

Should I see a doctor, I wondered. But I remembered all the patients with ridiculous symptoms whom House mock and feared I’d end up making a fool of myself like them.

What am I supposed to tell the doctor anyway? “See I felt dizzy for no reason, felt chest pains for no reason. Oh, for a few months a while back I always had tummy ache for no clear reason. And is it significant that I have trouble sleeping? Sometimes I wake up hours before I should and can’t back to sleep. But on weekends I practically force myself to sleep all day if possible. I kinda dread waking up. I become tired just thinking about going through another day’s motions. I could lie in bed all day without eating. Yeah, I could. I often don’t feel like eating. Once a day is enough eh? Must be why I seem to be shrinking, hmm. Could I have a happy pill Dr. House?”

I google-d and wikepedia-d some of actual physical symptoms I have because I wanted a reasoned basis to see a doctor for something he can cure with a prescription. But online resources indicate, which I’ve also known all along, that these bodily ailments were manifestations of, well, something more than physical.

So I tool a short online test. It said, “Your answers show the presence of prominent depressive symptoms. It is advised to seek a psychiatric consultation. Brought to you by the NYU Department of Psychiatry,”

But hey they only asked me 10 questions, silly. So I found another test with 100 questions. In brief it said, “You responded in a way that indicates moderate to severe depressive symptoms…In any case, it is strongly recommended that you see your physician as soon as you can.”

This test showed I scored 74 out of a high of 100. And it gives a breakdown too, scored me in a number of areas: depressive mindset (71), maladaptive perfectionism (72), rumination (90), cognitive variables (71), internal attribution of failure (80), attentional bias (65), catastrophic thinking patterns (74), worry about judgment of others (59) and rigid mindset (55).

It further stated that I possess the following symptoms:
• Generally depressed mood
• Loss of interest in enjoyable activities and lack of pleasure
• Significant changes in appetite; weight loss or weight gain
• Difficulty falling or staying asleep
• Psychomotor symptoms (moving slower than usual or behaving in an agitated manner)
• Loss of or significant decrease in energy, persistent fatigue
• Exaggerated feelings of guilt, shame or embarrassment
• Loss of or significant decrease in ability to concentrate
• Frequent thoughts of death or suicidal ideation.

The test may be bogus. You can’t trust most of the things on the internet after all. But then again three people have said I’m the most saddest person they know – one is equally cynical as I am, another was as sad at one point in his life, and the last one leads an enviably charmed existence.

I’m probably the loneliest person I know too. And I don’t wear that as a badge. Most people, I believe, think I’m proud my cynicism and misery. Maybe I don’t give them enough reason to think otherwise. Maybe I tried but as is the case with most things I grew tired of trying. But no one can, and should, fault me for not trying because no one knows how hard I do every damn day.

One of those three people, referring to my state, remarked, “It’s never been this bad, man.” You mean this is worse than when I was sleeping with a sharp object under my pillow? The other said it’s time to hang the “little miss depressed” cape and find new super mutant powers other than seeing the dark side of things.

I always get asked what makes me unhappy to which the short and long answer I give is “everything”. I don’t see why people bother to care, hope or love when, more often than not, it ends up in disappointment and pain. I don’t know why no matter how good you behave, how sincerely you care, how deeply you love, it’s never enough to be loved back, never enough not to be left. I don't know where people source the hope or the strength to try over and over. I get tired of trying.

I’ve never liked explaining myself, never enjoyed being prodded, poked and mocked for things I can hardly talk about. I do not solicit sympathy in the first place, but to talk about deep-seated troubles and be misunderstood, which happens often enough, has taught me that letting it out is not always good for one’s health. I’d rather stay quiet amidst a crowd, I’d rather lie alone in a dark room than be given advice, be scolded or teased.

I’d rather not talk about the whys and wherefores which people find tedious and repetitive. That’s why I can’t go to a shrink – how am I supposed to tell a shrink things I can’t even confide in my closest friends.

So I have decided not to whine or complain anymore, to resist the urge to run to someone when I feel the darkness descending. Because people are probably right, I’m stuck because I don’t consider the better alternative.

The physical maladies disappear sooner or later. Maybe that’s why I never went in for a checkup. I hope the other symptoms will pass too. Experts say symptoms are pretty serious when you’ve had them for two weeks. But I’ve been feeling this way for most of the past four years. And I’m tired of feeling it. I’m tired of crying because of it. I’m tired of being prodded, poked and mocked. I’m tired of trying. And no one who hasn’t been in my shoes should chastise me for feeling the way I do. I’m tired of that, most of all.


Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter
And my throat
Is deep with song,
You do not think
I suffer after
I have held my pain
So long?

Because my mouth
Is wide with laughter,
You do not hear
My inner cry?
Because my feet
Are gay with dancing,
You do not know
I die?

-- Minstrel Man, Langston Hughes