The Invisible Wall: On Not Belonging and Yet Existing #LostLines01

Loneliness has always been a constant, a specter trailing through my life as if it were part of my very being. Sometimes, it is a shadow that slips in unannounced; other times, it is a weight so dense I can barely breathe. I, being young, trying to understand the world, relationships, and expectations, find myself trapped in a silent paradox: the more I seek to be with others, the more I want to be part of something, there is always something within me that pushes me away. As if there exists an invisible wall between who I am and what the world expects me to be. And it is precisely there that loneliness establishes itself—not as a mere absence of company, but as an absence of understanding.

Loneliness is not simply the lack of people around me. It is far deeper and more complex. Loneliness is being among many, yet still feeling like a stranger. Loneliness is watching the world around me move while I remain still, lost in thoughts I cannot express. Loneliness is knowing that, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to fit anywhere; I can’t be “normal” in the way people seem to expect. Loneliness is my constant companion, but at the same time, it is the only thing I truly know intimately, like an old friend who, though distant, is always by my side.

It is not that I choose loneliness, but perhaps it has chosen me. And there lies the truth that, for me, feels painful: loneliness is a condition of existence, and maybe I am condemned to carry it. It is a silent choice, not made in words, but in actions and reactions. I try to fit in, try to be like others, try to follow expectations, but there is always something in me that pulls me away. As if, in attempting to be part of the whole, I lose myself even more. And so, I keep walking, pulling away, shrinking into my own space. At the same time that I desire to be seen, I also want to hide. At the same time that I need the company of others, I am consumed by the desire to be free from their expectations.

Kierkegaard spoke about existential angst, about how, upon realizing the total freedom we have to choose ourselves, we are consumed by the weight of that responsibility. When we are young, the world seems like a vast field of possibilities, but freedom is more a burden than a blessing. As I try to find myself amidst the chaos of the world and my own insecurities, I discover that the freedom to be who I am is also a prison, because the path to self-discovery is never clear, never easy. Every choice feels loaded with immense weight, and in trying to be what others expect of me, I end up becoming a faded version of myself, drifting further from who I truly am.

But it is in loneliness that something curious happens. When I am alone, without the gaze of others upon me, I am forced to look inward. In a world that constantly demands more of me, obliges me to be more, do more, be someone, loneliness offers me a space where I can stop. I remain there, lost in thoughts and reflections that, at first, seem like mere noise, but gradually take shape into something deeper. In loneliness, I find something of myself that I cannot see when I am immersed in external demands. But this encounter with myself is not simple. It is not a peaceful revelation, but a struggle, an internal battle where the self I try to hide confronts the self I am. And that confrontation can be frightening, because in looking inward, I see there are many things I do not understand about myself. Many unanswered questions, many wounds that never healed.

Solitude, on the other hand, seems to have a different taste. It is not as aggressive as loneliness; it does not consume me from the inside out. Solitude is a space where I choose to be with myself, but at the same time, I do not feel lost. Unlike loneliness, which pushes me into darkness, solitude calls me into the light, into a state of introspection that allows me to grow. It is not a forced distancing from others, but a conscious choice to be present in my own company. It is a space where I can hear my own voice without interference, without the world’s pressure to transform me into something I am not. And as paradoxical as it may seem, it is in solitude that I sometimes find the peace I so desperately seek.

Perhaps the true difference between loneliness and solitude lies in how we deal with them. Loneliness can be imposed, something we do not choose, something that consumes us without warning, whereas solitude is a choice. Not an easy choice, but a choice. And in that sense, solitude offers me something loneliness never did: the chance to reinvent myself, to find myself in the emptiness that loneliness would leave behind. Solitude allows me to accept my own company without fear. It demands nothing of me, merely permits me to be.

But there is something profoundly ironic in how these two experiences intertwine. No matter how much I seek solitude as a way to find my true essence, I cannot escape my need for belonging, for connection. I, as a young person, am constantly pressured to be something, to be part of something greater. But perhaps the answer lies in accepting life’s ambiguity, in recognizing that while loneliness and solitude pull me away, they also allow me to grow in ways that the constant pressures of the world never would. And in the end, perhaps the secret is to embrace both—loneliness and solitude—as essential parts of who I am, as mirrors reflecting different facets of my being.

And that is the great lesson loneliness and solitude have to teach me: that despite my anxieties, my insecurities, and my relentless search for answers, I am, at my core, more whole in my flaws than in my attempts to be perfect. Loneliness, with all its pain, reminds me that I am human, that there is beauty in imperfections, in gaps. And solitude, in turn, offers me the space to embrace those flaws and transform them into strength, into understanding, into growth.

In the end, I’ve learned that true freedom does not lie in escaping these experiences, but in living with them, accepting their lessons, and understanding that even in the silence of loneliness, there is a voice that speaks louder than any other sound—the voice that tells me that, ultimately, I am the one who must decide who I want to be.

Disclaimer:

Everything written here is just my personal opinion, shaped by my own experiences and feelings at the specific moment I was writing this. None of this is an absolute truth, and my perspective might completely change over time — maybe even soon. Lostlines is simply a reflection of what I think, feel, and live. Nothing more, nothing less.