You know you're lonely when...

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When everyone on the planet either ignores or despises you and you just want to die.

You know you're lonely when you can't invite your friends when you sign up for a social media account because they're cats.

You move to another town, stay temporarily at a hotel while looking for a more permanent place, having found nothing better for your needs than a double room, and wonder if the staff is messing with you when you realize they always leave both bedside lamps switched on, so you have to go all the way around the double bed to manually turn the other one off every effing—or, rather, effless—night after inserting the card in its slot.

When you actually *want* someone to call you on the phone just so you'll have somebody to talk to. But when that happens the few people you actually like talking to never call, or they're too busy with their lives and you get nothing but an answering machine if you get up the nerve to call them.

Fifteen hours later, she's still there. No sign of tiring, no shivering, no sweat, no stomach rumble; her charming hair still neatly hanging in the same ponytail, her book still held the same way, and her endearing feet still easily supporting her meagre weight, the left still pointing forward and the right at the same angle.

The hypothesis that she's alive looks less and less tenable. Maybe I should actually try to hug her to find out. Will it feel cold, like a block of metal at ambient temperature, or hot, like a well-deserved slap in my face?

I've just heard someone speak a language I hadn't heard in real life for a long time. No, they didn't speak to me.

one knows one is lonely past the point of no return, when one has given up on human companionship, when one puts in an order to the realdoll factory and goes deep in hock.

Maybe when you care enough about what may or may not be a living statue to tell what I'm about to ...

Well, a naughty little boy revealed the mystery to me: he grabbed her waist while walking off the bus, struck her, making an unmistakably metallic sound, and loudly proclaimed to his mother he'd "touched her p****". They walked away and only then did I dare stand in front of the statue and look at her eyes.

There was no white in them, of course, but I was surprised by her seemingly mischievous smile, which I hadn't noticed from the sides. It looked like the statue was made with that final attempt to convince you she's real in mind.

I forgot my obesity and how much I suck at life. Even her size and proportions would have made it easy to flaunt my unremarkable strength by lifting her off the ground in my arms had she been a real woman, maybe even letting her sit on my shoulders. Hadn't the street been busy with people, I think I'd have given in to the temptation to wrap an arm around her, kiss her cheeks, her nose, her neck, caress her back and put my other hand on her sweet breast, transfixed by her heartily playful gaze. I'm not sure I could get any closer to experiencing the real thing (no, I'm not going to hire a prostitute).

I might dream of meeting a similar-looking statue which turns out to be a living one. She'd surely be interesting to know. She'd be the girl I always longed to meet as a teenager, while I was stuck at my parents' home and couldn't do anything but studying and what they told me to.

Of course, I'll have to wake up, see again my disgusting belly and my general failure in life and remember why the dream was nothing more than a dream. Requiem for a dream.

i used to dance with a mannequin in the basement of a store I janitored in ages ago. such curves and fair features I wished to hell she was alive. or at least flexible. just to have her sitting on the chair at the kitchen table opposite me would give me somebody to talk to.

You know you're lonely when you only go out with your family or by yourself

There's a difference between being alone and being lonely. I only go out with my family because they're the few people I actually *like* being with, and they understand my needing "alone time". Most other people are too loud, obnoxious, nosy, boring, or won't allow you to be yourself, and I realized somewhere in my teens that people who are not allowed to be themselves - not because they're a paid actor but all the time - nearly always end up severely depressed or commit suicide, or both. Better to be alone and be yourself than to be with people and not be yourself.

I can't be myself around my family, never could. they wouldn't tolerate it. I can only be myself around myself and to a slightly lesser extent around my square pegs aspie meetup group.