Alone.

It’s a feeling like none other. The feeling of having tears welling at the eyes. Yet, when it’s time for them to flow, they are held back by an invisible barrier. The pain in his heart, he had carried as far as he could remember. Alone with his thoughts, he could hear screams of dying dreams torment his mind.

At first, he would see shadows. He would see figures that quickly disappeared. He never heard them. For the past months, he started to hear the silent yet loud screams. He could hear them yelling at him that they wanted out. They want out of the torture. They want out the hells of his mind. They want out of his body.

He doesn’t know how to release them. He knows that he could never tell his mother. His mother loved him. She would fight lions and bears with her bare hands to save him. But she could never save him from her fears. He remembers his youth. When he was young he loved music. He was a good track sprinter. Yet, these were passions that his mother did not share with him. And through her own fears, she robbed him of unknown futures where he had natural talents.

He could never tell his mother of the angels and demons that visit him at night and in the morning when he bathes. She would have a heart attack and feel she has failed as a mother. Not realising that it is her unconditional love that he lives on.

The fiends in his head begin to turn in horror. In a language that only he understands, they yell, “Get us out!” He punches the wall hoping the torment will end.

Maybe he should tell the love of his life. The woman who has found him worthy of her presence. But he is afraid. Every time he was told women he loved about the tears that well in his eyes but never flowed, they shut him out. They feel attacked. They feel like they are failing as lovers. And this makes them feel unloved and unappreciated. This reaction by his past lovers causes a ripple effect where he withdraws into his own cage. He sinks deeper into the pits of his own hell. He continues to suffer alone.

He is afraid she will walk away. It is not easy being a sad man. It is not easy having a consistent pressure of tears ready to burst through the eyes but they never come. And his pride doesn’t allow him to be vulnerable. His pride doesn’t allow him to be weak. How ironic.

Strength comes from being vulnerable. Being honest with himself is the key that will unlock his raging thoughts to roam free. But he is scared. He is scared of judgement. He is scared of being looked at as a weakling. He is scared of being looked at as a charity case, seeking emotional alms. His own fears feed the monsters that are slowly eating his mind.

He decided to take a walk around the block. This usually helps him clear his mind. A walk induced the fiends in his mind to relax. Walking around he notices a beautiful house. It seems that the house owner invited some friends over. It looks like fun. People are laughing and the smell of braai fills the air. He feels envious.

In his pocket he has nothing. Nothing to show the hard work he sacrificed his entire life for. Instead, he is living a lie. He grew up believing that the world is his to own. That façade was suddenly shattered when he realised that it was because his parents sacrificed their financial well-being for him. Now as an adult, he appreciates the efforts his parents took to give him a soft life. A soft life that lingers on only as a fading whisper.

Watching the beautiful women serve their men plates of food made him angry. That is a life he wants too. He did everything he was told to do to live that life but it is far from him. He went to school, got a job and worked harder than most of his colleagues. Yet, he struggles to feed himself. He struggles to be alive.

He lives with his sister. God bless his sister. A lovely understanding soul. She possesses the same spirit as that of their mother. But the fact remains, he lives with his sister. As he said this, he saw a homeless man push his cart down the street. The thought hit him that between the man and himself, there was nothing different between them. They were both homeless. At least he had a loving sister who was sheltering him from the elements of the Earth. Unlike him, however, the homeless man had the freedom that he owned.

The thought roused a sleeping demon that was dormant in his mind. It roared so loud, that he found himself shaking. His body felt like it was about to collapse under its own weight. A powerful throb knocked him by the temple of his mind. This forced him to sit down. His heart was racing. His breaths were short. If this was Death, he was ready for Her to take him away.

“Here young man,” a soft voice behind said.

He could barely turn his head. A soft-looking arm with an angel wing tattoo on the wrist reached down with a paper plate of food wrapped in cling wrap. The hand placed the food beside him and also placed a cup of Coca-Cola as well. He still could not turn his head. The fiends were fighting and roaring in his mind, he felt like they were choking him.

“God bless you,” the soft voice said.

As authentic and sincere as the gesture was, it merely confirmed what he felt. He was a homeless working individual who could not even afford food for himself. His pride could have never asked for the plate of food – food that he craved and wanted. The smell of the braai was soothing to his nostrils. So delicious was the smell that the fiends in his mind quietened down. His body stopped shaking. His heart stopped racing. His lungs opened up allowing for air to circulate in him. Death was losing Her grip on him.

He looked at the food. His heart broke into two. The pain was sharp. Yet the pain could not break the wall holding back the tears. He felt them well up in his eyes. He unwrapped the food at the curb of the street. Another homeless man was walking by with a big black plastic bag. He looked at the plate of food. He looked at the homeless man. He finally could turn his head and looked behind him. The party was still going but the gates were now closed.

He looked at the food again. More tears welled up but none dripped from his eyes. He took a bite of the deliciously prepared chuck meat. Whilst doing so, he wrapped the food up again and walked to the homeless man. The homeless are used to being passed by. They are used to being forgotten by society. The same was true with a broke working man.

The homeless man did not notice him. He simply placed the food next to his big black plastic bag. More tears filled up in his eyes and none seemed to flow.

He continued with his walk. Walking on he wished his mind would be freed from the loneliness that consumed his soul. The loneliness that tormented him when he was an infant hoping for approval from his peers. Loneliness that tormented him when his mother pushed him away when he told him he felt alone when was a child. Loneliness that tormented him that everyone he loved left him when he told them he felt lonely. Loneliness that his siblings saw him as a child and not as an adult. Loneliness that he feels like a disappointment to his father. Loneliness that he feels like a failure to himself. Loneliness that continues to torment him as a homeless working man chasing elusive dreams.

It was this loneliness that gave birth to the screams that lived in his mind. This loneliness that was formed a warm bed for him to sleep on at night. In the darkness when the fiends find life forms in the darkness, he finds solace with them watching over him. Like the kidnapped missing the kidnapper, his loneliness provides him with a sense of identity. His loneliness offers him a chance to express himself. It allows him to be himself.

He has been so lonely for so long that he doesn’t know how it feels not to be lonely. He lives trapped in his mind, feeling himself lose his mind. At least he is losing his mind in a fantasy world where he is happy. A fantasy world that is far better than the life he lives.

In some twisted way, the loneliness allows him to live. Unlike the homeless man, he has the comfort of a warm bed to spend time with the fiends that live in his mind. As he was walking back to his sister’s place, he wondered how long will he maintain his sanity. Will there be a time when he will lose his mind? He wonders if there will be a time when Death will find him at his lowest?

But he knows he will never allow Death to claim victory over him. He would rather be tied in a straight jacket, eating untreated leather before taking his own life. He would rather run away and endure the harsh elements that Earth has to offer than allow Death to have his soul.

Even though loneliness carries a subtle yet potent dose of sadness, it is not like full-blown depression. He once dated a lady who had full-blown depression. She taught him what depression really was and what it really looked like. He knew that he was far from expressing the depression she felt.

What he felt was loneliness, an emotion that is embedded in his DNA.

He reached the gate of his sister’s house. He told his fiends to be quiet. His sister must never find out about them. Because like their mother, her unconditional love towards him will smother him, choking him worse than his thoughts. He took a deep breath. The tears were still blocked by the invisible barrier. His thoughts, however, were quiet. He smiled and forced himself to be happy. At least for a few seconds for his sister not to notice.

Convinced that he was calm, he opened the gate and entered the door.