Loneliness

I wonder why it is so hard for some people to cry? I don’t struggle to cry, if, I am watching an emotive movie, and I am 100% all alone, or I am at the very edge of my pain tolerance, but again, I must be all alone.

Perhaps it is our upbringing. Crying when I was growing up was forbidden and would normally invoke a warning of physical punishment if we didn’t stop crying, on demand.

Last night I realised I had forgotten to get my Wife to get a prescription filled for the nerve pain medication I am currently taking. The other pain meds I am don’t bring any relief when it is specifically nerve pain. As I tried to drift off to sleep last night everything within me was crying out, but no tears were forthcoming.

In examining myself last night I realised that the physical pain was seriously uncomfortable but that the emotional pain was compounding that physical pain too.

I was feeling lonely, frustrated that there are still so many things I can’t physically do.
I am tired of being so dependent on others for the majority of things I used to take for granted.

Tears would have been very welcome.

Do you struggle to cry?
Have you overcome your reticence to cry? If so how?

I believe that “real” men do cry. I don’t believe there is anything masculine about holding back tears at cost.

I just wish that truth would go from my head to my heart.

What is the greatest gift someone could give you?

I believe the greatest gift that you could receive from someone is their love and appreciation.

The word love is tossed around like a ragdoll. You have people constantly saying they love you, but do they really when their actions don’t meet their words? When I say I love you, I mean it with my whole heart. Sure, I say it frequently to my friends and family, but that’s because I genuinely feel that emotion toward them. I don’t say it just to say it.

From my experiences, I’ve had people in my life tell me they love me, but I don’t feel the depth or emotion behind it. Maybe there is, and I’m just misconstruing it all, but I’m intuitive enough to know when someone means it or not.

Because of this, I’m also the type of person that seeks validation at every corner. I want to know that I’m included, that I belong, and that I’m worthy of love and appreciation. I need to hear words of affirmation, a long hug that feels real, and maybe a compliment or two.

Because of my rejection sensitivity, hearing that the love I give is reciprocated is essential for me.

I’ve never experienced having a partner who loved me for me. It’s an incredibly lonely place to watch others thrive, be in healthy relationships, and notice the strong amount of love shared. And while I honestly love to see love, I yearn for it and want it for myself.

Over time, that longing has made me feel unlovable. I’ve had more situationships than real ones—ones who never take the leap and actually want to date me, and instead just use me for their own gain. I know this to be true because there always seem to be other people in line waiting to make me feel worthless.

In turn, I’ve made myself vulnerable and more susceptible to hurtful situations. I’ve placed myself in the category of being unworthy of love. I think very negatively about myself and am constantly wondering why true love is so hard to obtain. I pretend like I don’t care because I know that they don’t, but deep down, it’s the total opposite.

Because of that, I like to hear words of reassurance to make me feel seen. Otherwise, I’m still the invisible girl—standing in a circle with people, having them step in front of me, and quite frankly, all over me.

At the end of the day, I still believe that the greatest gift you could receive is to love and be loved. To feel admired and appreciated among those you view as close people in your life.

I think it’s important for us to show our love because, from past experiences of losing people, I tell them all of the time. Tomorrow is promised to no one, so make sure you tell the ones you love how much you appreciate them.

Where in your life do you need love to be shown, not just spoken—and what would feeling truly seen look like for you?

“To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.” — David Viscott

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #AutismSpectrumDisorder

I experienced a heavy wave of rejection last night.

I noticed that my close friends had gathered together for what I can only assume was a New Year’s celebration. The thing is—I didn’t get an invite. The day before, I had spoken to one of them and we’d made plans to hang out. When the evening came and I hadn’t heard anything, I reached out. No response.

Fifteen minutes later, I saw a friend post an Instagram story of them all together, laughing and having a great time.

I texted again, asking about the get-together. Still nothing.

I felt incredibly hurt—overlooked, unseen, invisible. In my body, the pain was joined by rage. My immediate reaction was to cut them off entirely. That you don’t care, so I don’t care instinct kicked in hard. I wanted to go for the jugular and make them feel as hurt as I did.

But I’ve lived with RSD long enough to know how this usually goes.

It always gets turned back on me. I become the bad guy for having feelings at all.

Rejection sensitivity dysphoria doesn’t just show up in dramatic moments. It lives quietly inside everyday social dynamics. Missed invitations. Unanswered texts. A shift in tone. For many people, these moments sting and pass. But for those of us with RSD, they can feel catastrophic, as if our sense of safety, belonging, and worth is suddenly on trial. It’s not about wanting special treatment. It’s about how our nervous systems interpret perceived rejection as something deeply threatening.

I vented to other friends. I know they were trying to help, but nothing they said landed.

“Tell them how you feel.”

“They love you—they didn’t do it on purpose.”

“They probably just wanted to keep it small.”

To me, it all felt like phony bologna. If they cared, wouldn’t they have invited me?

Instead, I felt like an afterthought—or worse, not a thought at all. Like they secretly don’t like me, or maybe even loathe me. I’ve known these people for over twenty years. You’d think I’d cross their minds.

I know adulthood creates distance. Life happens. People move away. Some stay. I stayed too. But this group was once incredibly close. And now, the friends I still have here don’t seem to want to see me very often. My truest friends live out of state.

So, I’m lonely here. I’m alone. And when you’re lonely, everything feels sharper. Louder. More painful.

I know how this probably sounds to some people.

Why can’t she just get over it?

Why can’t she see it wasn’t intentional?

Believe me—I hear those thoughts too. And every time, they come back to bite me. I end up feeling foolish. Too emotional. Too reactive. The one who jumps to conclusions too fast.

Rejection sensitivity follows me everywhere. It leaves a lasting imprint. Today, I still feel hurt—and I know I’ll think about this for years. I’ve already laid there numb and crying, replaying every possible scenario. Every why. Every what if.

Now, I feel guilty. Guilty for venting. Ashamed for calling a few of them out and saying they all suck. Once again, my RSD has painted me as the villain.

I wish people understood how consuming and painful rejection sensitivity dysphoria can be. It’s real. It’s not something you can simply control or logic your way out of. My reactions are instinctual—and often turn inward in self-destructive ways before I even realize what’s happening.

RSD shows up when you least expect it. But it’s also always there, waiting—ready to crack and shatter you into a million pieces.

RSD is closely tied to ADHD and autism. I have both. So, for me, it’s ever-present. A given. I just want more control over it. and I want to think clearly without being clouded by intrusive thoughts. I want space between the trigger and the spiral.

It’s hard to live this way—especially when people don’t understand you.

Have you ever reacted strongly to feeling excluded or overlooked—and later wondered if rejection sensitivity played a role in how deeply it affected you?

“Rejection sensitivity doesn’t mean I am too much. It means my nervous system has learned to brace for loss.” – Unknown

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Anxiety #AutismSpectrumDisorder #Autism

Most of the time, I’ve always enjoyed being alone. I think it’s because from an early age, I often played alone. I made friends in preschool, so I had many playdates and developed more friendships over the years throughout school and such. But still, I’m an only child, so there were many times I was left to my own devices to entertain myself.

The feeling of loneliness didn’t really come until my teenage years, when I started realizing that so much solitude had made me disconnected from others. In high school, I had a hard time making friends because I was just so used to being alone, and I struggled to approach people. Eventually, I did find a close group, but it made me realize that even when I’m in the presence of others, I still feel utterly alone. I still feel this way to this day.

The thing is, I make myself hidden, unavailable, and distant. I think loneliness has always cradled me in some way. And now, I know that too much solitude can be harmful when it starts to interfere with developing friendships or relationships. I love being alone — just not actually being alone. I like having others around, even if we’re not constantly interacting.

Here are some of the lessons solitude has taught me:

-Being alone can feel safe, especially when vulnerability feels risky

-Solitude can be comforting without actually being healing

-Feeling lonely doesn’t always mean being physically alone

-Too much independence can make it harder to ask for connection

-Hiding can protect you from pain, but it can also keep you invisible

-Wanting solitude doesn’t mean you don’t want relationships

-Balance matters — alone time is healthy, isolation is not

I’m learning that solitude doesn’t have to be something I retreat into out of fear. It can be a place to rest, to reflect, and to recharge, not a permanent state of disconnection. I want to be alone without disappearing. I want presence without pressure, connection without expectation, and relationships that feel safe enough to step into.

This is still something that I’m learning how to navigate. I don’t want to abandon solitude, because it has shaped me and protected me in many ways. But I also don’t want to stay hidden inside it forever. My goal isn’t to change who I am, but to ease the distance I place between myself and others. To let solitude be a place I return from. Not a place I stay stuck in.

Where in your life are you choosing solitude — and where might you be choosing invisibility instead?

“The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” — Michel de Montaigne

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #Depression