And there are times, When your favourite music doesn't do it for you anymore, the nostalgic songs don't bring back any good or bad memories, no tears nor smiles. O'Halloran's opus 20 doesn't cleanse your soul anymore. Times when you are emotionally paralised.

And there are time, yo fel drowsy, tire, yu brain no work, sleep, pilo, hedeche, keep look wite screen, leters, no bed, no blanket, can't keep ey open.

And there are times when your solitude gets into you, litterally inside you, right in your stomach, and then viciously tries to fight his way out, punching every muscle and organ around him, times like this you ache from inside, you can't locate it exactly, and the doctor will prescribe some unrelated chemical pills, just to fool you, himself, and the thing inside you.

And there are times when you are surrounded by your family, you are laughing, suddenly tears overcome you, this moment won't last forever.

And there are times you want to come the fuck out of the cage you're imprisoned in, out to the entire world, all at once, loud, effective, destructive, like the wave made by the meteor that caused the extinction millions of years ago.

And there are times when you feel sick to your stomach, you're ready to throw up, to vomit out all the life there's left in you, you are sick, sick of your life itself, sick of yourself, your foolish self.

And there are times when you volume up the music on your headphone, to the point that your ears start to ache, eardrums are vibrating, you might even fear becoming deaf, but you keep the headphone on, you just want to cancel out all the noise from the besieging reality, escaping it, for as long as a song.

And there are times when you want to bang your head against the concrete wall, you wanna see the red of the blood marked on the spot where you hit your head, bang, bang, bang, again, again, and again, until you feel a bit dizzy, still you go on, the red isn't enough, you want to sea the pink of the brain, bang bang, the skull breaks, bang the brain is hit.

And there are times when you want to unplug, every sort of connection or communication to the world, like deleting all your social network accounts, deleting your contacts, hell breaking you sim card, unfriending all those whom you know, they're not many, but still, you simply want no sign of life around you, not another mind, not a single soul beside you. Times like this you seek an unoccupied heaven.

And there are times you realise all the pains and sufferings, physically or emotionally, caused by people or the life itself, all and all were necessary, inevitable, vital even, to create what you are right now, to modify and change you, to become your best self. And so at times like this, you are ready for the next misery.

And there are times when you don't try anymore, the cage you're in, you don't try to break out anymore. Times like this you even add up to the surrounding metal bars, you make the cage safer, so you won't even want to break out, by adding up to the bars you narrow down the little vision you have of outside, of freedom.
And there are times, rarely, you are so moved by a movie, by the soundtracks, by the slow piano playing in the background, by the first-role character, wishing your life would turn out like theirs, it's sad and heartwarming at the same time.

And there are times you even appreciate the sun, simply for shining, the sky, simply for being blue, the air, simply for being clean, yourself, simply for being present at that moment. And there are times when the most exciting event in the world can't even curve one corner of you lips up. Funny it could all happen in a day, hell, in an hour in my case.

And there are times when you realise you only have your notebook to talk to, your drawing papers to pour out your ideas, and only your pillow to hug.

And there are times, so many times, that you give yourself false hopes that this time it would be different, that this time you would do better, that soon you will gain the happiness you've been trying to your death to achieve. But its all just false hope, don't fool yourself. Times like this, you feel sick to your stomach, encountering the reality.

And there are times when you randomly open one of the novels on the shelf, finding a bookmark on its fifth chapter, realising that you must have read the first four chapters before, not long ago. But you have no idea what the storyline is, as if the title of the book has never ever crossed your eyes before. As if it was never bought by you, never even touched. Was it a birthday present? You won't know. Times like this you fear forgetting who you are. Maybe you're already lost.

And there are times when your hand shakes lifting everyday objects that you could easily, steadily, unshakingly move. Physical weakness? Signs of getting old? It's the little soul that's left in you. Starving line-thin ancient unfortunate soul of yours.

And there are times when you feel so small, the smallest being, even smaller, not being at all. Times like this you feel like you're nothing in the vast infinite astronomical space.

And there are times when you stare at the night sky, waiting to catch a glimpse of a shooting star, to make a wish and hope for it to come true, yes it's all just a superstition, but still.

And there are times when no matter how hard you try, even the universe stops you from starting a friendship. Like the extra pen you always carry in case he needs one, but the universe takes that extra pen instead. The note taking papers that you use, and exactly when she asks for one, the universe has used them all. His jokes you wished you could have heard to laugh at, to laugh with. Her glance you wish you could have caught. His invitation to a coffee when the universe forces you to be somewhere else at the exact same moment. Another group arrangement, with the sole purpose of seeing her, but the universe doesn’t allow her to attend. And all the times you feel he’s trying to escape you. Not giving you her number. Not sitting in front of you anymore. Not asking you for a pen anymore. Not even waving goodbye. And believe me when I tell you, the universe will even try to stop you from writing these very words!

She suddenly decided she needed a haircut. She brought the scissors and her comb, put them in front of the mirror, sat on the stool and began looking. She has never cut her hair herself, but she was do determined to do it now. She tied her hair back up to begin, she was practically just thinking how it’s done. She looks into the mirror and notices something weird. Her forehead, is strange, it’s bigger than usual, it was stretched out, upwards, to the top of her head. Her front hair, her bangs, were gone. She was half bald. She didn’t freak out, somehow it seemed as if she has always looked that way. There were small thin short hairs scattered on the bald side of her head, she decided they won’t ever grow back again. Her hair was still tied back up. Now that she didn’t need a haircut anymore, she focused on her body, and with all her hair out of the way she observed how big she really was. She turns back to see her back. There were more muscles than she thought she had. What was there right on her back bone? Few inches under her neck there were two, what were they? They were some kind of carvings, as if she was punched by a baby and the baby’s fist had marked her body permanently. She tried to touch it, yes they were carvings, she called her mother to come and see it. She moved closer to the mirror to see better, she was terrified and sad. While her mother came and checked it out, saying something, she found a dead ant stuck in the upper-side carving. She tried to scoop it out. She did it in her third attempt. She pitied the ant. She wondered if she had killed the ant herself.

Another bad dream, she wakes up in fear, shaking. Calming herself down she goes to the bathroom. She stands before the mirror. The mirror again, the cold water is running. Reaching her toothbrush from a bunch of others, she checks out her teeth. Her eyes wider than ever recognize her unusual gum size. She reaches closer to the mirror, saying aaaaa as if opening her mouth for the doctor, her right eye becomes bigger, her mouth stretched to his ears, still holding her toothbrush. Her gums, right under and above her teeth, are so obvious, so much gum than ever before, her lips loose like a plastic bag of warm water. But the gum, it has little holes in it, three or five at most, the size of a tooth, the little pink holes in her gum, still holding her toothbrush. And yet somehow, the bigger right eye, the floppy lips, the stretched mouth, the pink little holes in the gum, all seemed as if eternal, as if they've always been such, as if she was beautiful just like this.

Another strange nightmare, she was dead, a ghost, and could see her body, her head was crushed by a truck, she didn’t dare to look at her dead body first, but then she walked closer and watched herself, pink pieces of her brain were on the cold black asphalt. She cried, unintentionally held her scream, with her hand on her mouth. She turned away and ran; she knew she was a ghost. She thought she could haunt the one who was to blame for this accident. Then she woke up. Once again, she couldn’t recognize where she was. She saw two bags in front of her half open eyes, she thought she was on a vacation, but no, she then thought she was kidnapped, lying at the back of some sort of truck with other stolen stuff. She got up and realized she was at her dormitory; she was staring at her bag. She was sad.

Another bad dream, she woke up in sweat. She remembered last night's walk down the sidewalk, as she saw those wonderful pretty faces of other girls of her age. What she envied the most was their smiles and laughter, with their heavenly sounds and kissable colourful lips, their perfectly fit teeth. She remembered wanting those mouths for herself. She stood in front of the mirror, trying to imitate a smile. It seemed as if she had forgotten how to. So she tried, straightening the upper lip, stretching the corners towards her ears, and the lower lip curved, upper teeth standing exactly on the lower teeth, showing no gap between them. She tried it two or three times, but it seemed too much, her teeth weren't straight, her upper lip would fold inwards showing no lip at all, her lower lip started hurting, and the corners trembled, as if not being able to hold so much pressure to smile. She gave up, and returned to her dull face.

Another nightmare, tough she couldn't remember it at all, but she woke up out of fear, and yet her eyes were still closed, she was afraid if she opened them the nightmare would be real, standing in front of her bed. And then she wondered, still with her eyes shut, where was she? It was as if she was lying on the hard floor of the shopping centre, the dimmest scene she could remember of her nightmare, or was she on her bed at home, but she couldn't recognise which one, was she at the beach house, or her own bedroom on the second floor of the building in the noisiest street of her town? No, it was so quiet. She remembered at last, she was in her cell, at the prison, she was safe now, she opened her eyes.

Another bad dream. She woke up in sweat. She is still not used to them. She went in front of the bathroom mirror and, again, something wasn't the same, something in her face. She was still half bald, but she panicked for a moment, and then realised this was not the first time she had seen herself like this. She touched the front bald part of her head, for the first time, it felt exactly as it should, as the touch of the complete bald head of grandpa feels. But this wasn't what surprised her. Her forehead, right above her eyebrows and under her bald head, there were some kind of pimples, as red as tomatoes. Her mouth was half open and her eyebrows turned into a reversed V, out of surprise. The pimples were shining, somehow, as if having an alarming twinkling lights, they were going on and off slowly and constantly, looked like field mines ready to explode. She felt an itch, raised her right hand to touch them, but didn't dare to. She took a step back and looked at her face and body in the mirror, it didn't feel weird at all, the red explosive pimples seemed the most normal, as if she was born with them on her forehead. Her mouth and eyebrows turned back into a straight line, and she started her day.

She woke up in tears, still half bald, with all those red pimples on her forehead, the white spots on her gum and baby sized punch on her back. She sat in front of the mirror, looked at the reflection of her lonely self, she could feel the empty space, the nothingness beside her, she could touch this void at her left side, as if the empty space of the missing person, this ghost, was solid. She felt like she had tried with every human possible on earth and all had left her, like she wasn't good enough for anyone on the solar system. And still, it was as if this was how it was always meant to be, like her having lost all hopes of finding the one was what she'd woken up for this morning.

You know you're so fucking lonely when you hate public places, people's stares, couples hand in hand, three friends talking.

You know you're so fucking lonely when you get jealous of news reporters on TV, sitting next to each other, sharing a desk, coworkers. You're so fucking lonely when you're missing a co- .

You know you're so fucking lonely when you tell a joke in a circle of people, so close to you, and you receive no reaction. Not that the joke was bad or unfunny, of course lonely people are physically unable to make funny jokes, not that they didn't care enough to even fake a smile, but the fact that they didn't hear you, that your voice is so unfamiliar for them to recognise, that the invisible distance between you and them keeps the sound waves to reach their ear drums.

You know you're so fucking lonely when you don't need to be fake happy, so that those seeing your face wouldn't worry if you're depressed. You're lonely when you're like a constant live version of a poker face emoji, and there's no finger to hit another emoji, not necessarily the laughing emoji, but even a crying emoji, any kind of emotion but unfeeling.

You know you're so fucking lonely when you're having your meal on a table with six chairs. Six chairs but only one dish, and you're mind is so full that you miss the spoon and fork as your reach for them, two or three times.

You know you're so fucking lonely when you're surrounded by walls and windows and the door of your room, the tears start rolling down your cheeks, you're crying silently, but through it all, you have no fear of being seen, no ones around so you don't have to clean your teary eyes. You're lonely cuz you don't have anyone to hide your sadness from.

You know you're so fucking lonely when you're in a library to kill some time before your next class begins, a library with seventeen empty seats beside you, and you're still able to cry a tear