I don’t think the same things, or write the same things, or come up with the same jokes, or feel the same things I would if I weren’t lonely. It turns me inward. It saps my empathy. I hate that it does that, and I try to be on guard against it, but it does.
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In some ways, wanting an escape from loneliness is about wanting to know myself, the version of me who feels closely connected to others, to find out what she has to give.
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