No man is an island. Interesting expression. If one is to look at it objectively, we are alone at the moment of birth and we are alone at the moment of death. Man IS an island. And yet, we find it necessary to surround ourselves with people. People who, a majority of the time, are unimportant to our development as individuals and are of no significant emotional worth to us. And yet, we do it. Why? Because the intrinsic nature of our psyche dictates the need for a social insecurity that is “cured” by herding? Perhaps. But we feel something when we do not have it. That absence we entitle “loneliness”, but it is so much more than that. For our “loneliness” is a gateway, and a dangerous one at that. We cross through that gateway and we see the truth, and it scares us. We see the doors wide open and the picture clear as day, for in that instant we are forced to accept that looming anxiety that is socially deemed unacceptable; man is an island. We live alone. We die alone. It is the nature of our existence and we attempt to delude our perceptions, to deceive our senses with uncertainty so that we may be content with the little life we are allowed to live. Wife. Friends. Children. Parents. Siblings. Fellow man. We suppress the inevitable conclusion derived from the interpretation of these terms to the point of eluding even psychological analysis. Because here is the fact of the matter, very matter-of-factly, as close as these people may come to us, as connected as they may become, as integrated into the systematic ticking of our lives they may be; they are not a part of us. I am myself, in and of myself alone. I feel the presence of others, but I can feel their existence only as divided distinctly from my own. And therein, as a wise man once said, lies the rub.
So we feel these feelings, and we endure these transient emotions of mind over matter, but we cannot bring ourselves to believe in them. For that step, that very instant, marks our betrayal of our strongest and most dominating appendage to our all-encompassing perceptions; logic. I is all, they are obsolete. In the grand scheme of it all, we will govern that which we are given allowance to govern in our lives in accordance with the opposite of the aforementioned, however, our hearts know the truth. And thus, I feel not hurt, but rather disappointment in the untimely but inevitable demise of my friendship. This occurs for no other reason than for the very fact that, of delusions of unison, ours was indeed a strong delusion. However, my stamina proved to be weaker than it once was, perhaps worn out by a torn-apart heart. For attempt, at one point, to delude that greatest and unfathomable tool at your disposal; your mind, into believing that one person can become a part of yours, that that one individual can become your investment of everything. Then, lose that investment. If your universe is capable of standing stable as an affirmation of your solitaire existence with content, then, well… write a book. But if not, then believe that the hurt can consume an individual’s dignity, sanity, and even that very sanctity of mind that one could once hold inextinguishable.