We all belong here.

At the start of this year I discovered my first ever partner, who I was with for 18 months, was cheating on me. She was my world - and I devoted so much time and energy to growing into a better person for her, and myself.

Since then it has been a battle, a struggle between the sides of my brain - to try and pull myself together after having half of who I am suddenly removed. Like a tapestry with every 2nd row removed, I felt frayed and worn.

Trying to unravel those threads, and weave back together *me* is something I am still working on. While I know what I value, and care about - it feels like my identity has shifted to something I have yet to truly understand or know.

Loneliness is this ever present cloud that lingers. Sometimes it rains. Hard. It feels like I am drowning with how quickly the rain comes down, and I have to weather the storm anyway I know how. Other times, it lingers in the distance. A soft drizzle, not enough to draw my focus away from what I am doing - but enough to keep me constantly reminded of the fact I am now alone.

I've tried my hardest to use this time in my life to grow as much as I can. To become a better person from the pain of a first love failed. It would be so easy to let myself spiral into the self-fulfilling cycles of beating myself up, the could-haves, should-have-beens, and whatnot.

As my life shifts drastically from what it once was, and I face a future with no one by my side - it is hard to remain optimistic. As a man, I am not asked or checked up on. The few people in my life don't ask how I am doing. I don't blame them, but it still hurts.

I face this time in my life alone for the most part. Not so much a support network but an emergency fall-back. That's a hard thing to face, the fact that despite your best efforts and what you would do for others - those in your life just don't reach out. Not out of maliciousness, but just due to what seems to be the norm for us.

In the meantime - I write songs. I journal. Putting the constant buzz of thoughts down into words allows me to make more sense of them, and simultaneously I hope that maybe someone else reads them and can draw some help or solidarity from it.

For me, I am still feeling the effects of covid and iso in my personal relationships. As someone who not only dislikes communicating online or via text, etc., but also gets a lot of anxiety from doing so (especially when attempting to initiate contact) a lot of my personal relationships were damaged or severed as a consequence of not being able to see people. The loneliness I feel from this only increased after lockdown(s) ended because I felt I had to catch up on both uni and my professional life which left little to no time to meet new people or see existing friends. The relationships I have maintained feel surface-level and I feel sad that I've damaged my relationships with friends.

I've always been someone who finds comfort in routine, predictability, and pursuing dreams I've held close since childhood. As an autistic individual, the world often feels like a chaotic and overwhelming place. Having dreams and goals provided me with a sense of stability. For me, that dream was to work in childcare. I dedicated years to this dream, feeling a profound connection to the idea of nurturing young minds and creating safe spaces for children to grow and thrive. But life, as it often does, took me on a path I never anticipated, and it was filled with profound loneliness.

The first significant change came when I had to leave high school in Year 11. Bullying had become unbearable, and each day felt like I was walking into a storm without an umbrella. The teasing, the isolation, the feeling of being out of place—it all wore me down. I tried to stay strong, but the toll on my mental health became too much. My parents and I decided that homeschooling was the best option. While it was a relief to leave the hostile environment, it also meant stepping away from the small social circle I had. My days became quieter, the kind of quiet that feels heavy rather than peaceful. I missed the chatter of classmates, even if it wasn't directed at me, and the sense of being part of something bigger.

Still, I pushed forward. I poured myself into my studies, holding tightly to my dream of working in childcare. I told myself that this was temporary, that once I graduated, I could rebuild. And for a while, it seemed like things were falling into place. I started my traineeship in childcare and felt a sense of purpose. I loved watching the children grow, their curiosity and creativity reminding me why I chose this path. But as time went on, cracks began to form.

The job was emotionally and physically demanding, and I often felt overwhelmed. I struggled with the fast-paced environment and the constant social interactions. I began to question if I was cut out for this, if my dream was truly attainable. But admitting that felt like admitting failure, and the thought of letting go of something I'd worked so hard for was devastating.

Eventually, I made the difficult decision to step away from childcare. It wasn't an easy choice; it felt like I was walking away from a piece of myself. I transitioned to retail, a field I'd never imagined myself in. While it was less emotionally taxing, it came with its own challenges. The loneliness I felt during this period was profound. I was grieving the loss of a dream and trying to navigate a new path that didn't feel like mine. I missed the connection I had with the children, the sense of making a difference in their lives. In retail, I often felt like a cog in a machine, replaceable and unseen.

Throughout these changes, loneliness was a constant companion. It wasn't just the physical isolation or the lack of familiar faces; it was the sense that no one truly understood what I was going through. People would tell me to stay positive, to focus on the opportunities ahead, but their words felt hollow. I wanted someone to sit with me in my grief, to acknowledge the weight of what I was carrying.

Over time, I've learned to find small pockets of connection and meaning. I've started to see that it's okay for dreams to change and that stepping away from something doesn't mean I've failed. I've discovered strengths I didn't know I had and begun to explore new interests. But the loneliness still lingers, a quiet reminder of the path I've walked.

If I could offer advice to others navigating big life changes, it would be this: your feelings are valid, even the hard ones. It's okay to grieve what you've lost while also making space for what's to come. And most importantly, you're not alone, even when it feels like you are. There are people who want to listen, to understand, and to walk alongside you as you navigate the twists and turns of life. Your voice and experience matter, and they deserve to be heard.

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I've always felt different, something not quite right, like I had an invisible barrier between myself and other people. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to fit in. I really wanted to fit in. But I just couldn't quite manage it. A label on my forehead in permanent marker, "I am different". Different is cool in movies and books, it's unique. The quirky unattainable "manic pixie dream girl". But in reality different is isolation, it's loneliness. It's standing at the centre of a room feeling like you're Earth travelling a little too close to the sun but constantly wanting to chase the heat even though sometimes it burns a little too much from embarrassment. I thought Uni would be different, that the more people I meet the more likely it is to find my 'person', to find my planets. But really I just became Pluto, a little too insignificant to be anything at all. Forgotten in a sea of confusion, of other people on the cusp of adulthood trying to find their people too.

My experience of Uni so far is best described by this lyric by the wonderful Mr. Billy Joel, "they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone".

I often wonder how many people out there feel like me. Maybe if I knew the answer then I wouldn't feel so different, so lonely among others. Maybe I'd feel a little more ok to be me.

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Everyone is an isolated island. They have their colourful world in their islands (mind). The sea separates me & my family and friends, but it connects me and other islands as well. People are struggling in the sea, but connection will provide relief.