The last few months I have gone to great lengths to avoid thinking about loneliness. I have chased the feeling and thought away with Lorazepam and sleep and sometimes desperate appeals to friends for company.
The idea that keeps coming back, that I am trying so hard to avoid, is that this is what life is: life is the constant fleeing from and denial of loneliness.
Yesterday, Sergey asked for solutions to his own funk. I had, as always, trouble following his train of thought, but it seemed to go like this: He is blessed, or cursed with the ability to see life as it really is, which means that any kind of happiness is a denial of the rottenness of human kind and the mechanics of life itself. Good people (mostly men) are meant to be used and worn down. If they by sheer chance win money or social status or any of the other goodies that life offers, they're meant to lack self discipline so to the extent that they'l immediately spend the wealth or do a number of acts so self defeating that they find themselves worse off than when they started out.
Sergey wanted me to give him some clue as to how to escape this fate. I tried, albeit not very hard, to tell him that I struggle with the same problem. My own theory about life is just smaller: What's the point of living if you wake up each morning with dread squeezing your stomach and go to sleep each night blissfully knocked out by Seroquel?