We all belong here.

To me, loneliness can feel vast and endless. It can feel all-encompassing. When I graduated high school, my experience was one not of excitement but of grief and isolation. My loneliness might have been silent, but it was not invisible. It was the school bag that I couldn’t bring myself to move from its usual spot for over a year. It was holding myself together through a university class only to cry the whole drive home. It was being with my friends and holding a smile until I was out of sight.

I chose the girl in this image because loneliness is not just emotional, but also physical pain. It is having to wrap your arms around yourself because there’s no one to do it for you. It is counterintuitively shrinking your world and your connections because to be around people is to be more acutely aware of how alone and separate you feel. I chose to place her in a sky though – not only to symbolise loneliness as pervasive and heavy, but also because looking at the stars has always been an experience of awe for me.

Looking at the stars makes me feel small, in a comforting, grounding way. Seeking out awe and wonder was something that has helped me feel less lonely – to know we are all connected on one planet, and nothing matters as much as we think it does. The stars were here long before I was and will be here long after my lifetime and I find solace in knowing that everyone and everything eventually finds their way, and their place in the family of things.

The night sky is also something that, the longer you look at it, the more stars you are able to see – in my experience, whilst it may seem like no one else around you is feeling the same way, chances are that if you have the courage to start a conversation, you will be met with “me too”. The more we talk about loneliness, the more we realise that sometimes those around us also feel the same – we are not lone stars in the night…there are many of us; separated yes, but also together. The more we talk and share and connect, the brighter the sky.

For me, loneliness, because I also bring in the fact that I am autistic into this as well when it comes to something like this. So naturally, a lot of my thoughts and associations with loneliness is me not understanding others and others having their own group and their own kind of [actions] and me not necessarily understanding what's going on.
So that's how I kind of associated it. That's why I had the the group of people [on the left] On the right that's meant to be, not necessarily, me, but - a lonely person, kind of to the side.

Loneliness seeped into my soul, like growing mould in the corner of a bathroom.
It was always there, but I chose to ignore it. I didn’t want to admit I was lonely. Admitting I was lonely would mean I was admitting my best friend didn’t provide me the level of care and attention I craved.
However, once I admitted, it was too late.
For too long had I pretended like nothing was wrong when everything was wrong.
For too long had I exacerbated her loneliness.
Bringing my best and authentic self to her did not help her loneliness. She needed someone else that wasn’t me.
She left me without explanation and I was lonely.
On a hopeful note, now we have found better friends that suit ourselves better than we suited each other. People who leave you with no explanation have no right to make you feel lonely so find better people.

Leaving home wasn’t my choice—it was more of a necessity. The decision came after an argument with my mum, one of those tense standoffs that left everything unsaid and a heavy silence hanging between us. She gave me the cold shoulder for days, and even before that, it felt like I was walking on eggshells every day. I didn’t know how to make it better, and honestly, I don’t think she did either.

I didn’t have much support elsewhere. My dad worked FIFO, always away, and my sister… well, she disowned me a while ago (but that's a story for another day). I felt like I was on my own. My friends, who still lived at home, seemed to have these warm, easy relationships with their parents. Must be nice to have supportive families and friends.

At the time, I was dating a guy who lived out of home, and thankfully, I was able to crash at his place for a couple of months. It was a relief, even though I felt guilty about imposing. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, especially with him and his roommate, so when the time came, I moved out. I found a room in student accommodation. It was cheap, easy to get, and felt like my only option. But it turned out to be a huge mistake.

The house was packed with individual rooms, maybe ten in total, all rented out. It felt like a cash grab more than anything else, but I couldn’t afford a full unit on my own—especially not as a uni student. The housemates were disrespectful, not respecting shared spaces, and it was exhausting dealing with the tension. I couldn’t handle the instability anymore, constantly moving between places, never quite settled. I missed the comfort of feeling like I belonged somewhere.

I tried to make new friends, but everyone was further out, and with all the changes going on in my life, it was hard to keep connections. So, after months of trying to hold it together, I went back to the family home. It wasn’t as bad as before, though. I think my mum had some empty nest syndrome or something because she was a little kinder. It didn’t fix everything, but it was a small relief.

Now, I’m living with my partner in our own unit, with our cat. Things have settled but even with that, there are new challenges, like buying a home. It’s confusing, frustrating, and sometimes, I feel lost again.

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Everyone tells you these are the best years of your life. I’m still wondering how that is possible. We go from small communities to large dreams where no one knows our name. We are told have fun whilst still making a name for ourselves. We search for our people whilst others playfully walk the streets laughing with our friends. It’s easy to be imaginary in a world where no one asks your name. These are the years that you can hide as you get lost in the in between no one looking for you.