Living on the Edge
For a long time, I have been living in a kind of suspended state — a limbo where time stretches, and life feels more like survival than living. Isolation, legal limbo, and lack of real human connection have shaped these past years. It’s hard to describe to anyone who hasn’t experienced it: the constant tension, the waves of frustration, and the rare glimpses of relief that sometimes come from small, fleeting interactions.
Isolation and Exhaustion
I’ve been in a state where most of my days are spent working from early morning to late afternoon, often without breaks. The work itself is tiring, but what is even more exhausting is the constant mental load — the pressure of being alone, of having nobody to trust fully, of carrying everything inside without an outlet.
I surround myself with people, in a sense, but it feels hollow. I can observe them, know things about them, but there’s nobody I can really open up to — nobody who could hold me when the tension becomes unbearable. It feels like I’ve built a crowd around myself, but there’s nobody to truly talk to. This is the paradox of loneliness in a social environment: being physically surrounded but emotionally isolated.
Waves of Aggression
There are moments — sometimes short, sometimes stretching for twenty minutes or more — when aggression rises inside me. It’s not always directed at anyone, but I feel this unrelenting anger toward people, society, and the limitations that confine me. I notice my body going into a state of heightened tension: muscles tight, jaw clenched, gaze fixed, sometimes trembling. It’s as if my mind and body enter a trance-like state, both alert and trapped.
Even though these feelings are intense, I am still able to observe myself. I write them down, reflect, and recognize that this is my system’s way of trying to discharge energy it cannot otherwise release. I do not act on it — the control remains, fragile but present.
The Need for Connection
Even as I push myself to endure solitude, I cannot deny the need for connection. Simple interactions, a brief conversation with someone, or even writing down my thoughts, can provide a moment of release. They remind me that I am still human, still capable of feeling comfort and empathy, even when surrounded by overwhelming tension.
I have learned, painfully, that one close connection is far more valuable than a hundred superficial ones. Yet, I often avoid vulnerability, fearing that it could become a weakness — that being seen fully might expose me to hurt I am not ready to face. And so I navigate this tension between needing support and fearing it, struggling to find balance.
Reflections
Writing this now, I realize that the struggle is ongoing, but so is my endurance. I have withstood years of isolation, constant mental pressure, and a life constrained by circumstances beyond my control. And yet, I am still here — observing, reflecting, and recording my experience.
The goal is not to eliminate these moments of tension — that may be impossible. The goal is to survive them, to maintain a thread of awareness, and to find moments of release and clarity without losing myself entirely.
Living in prolonged isolation is not about weakness or failure. It is about enduring an internal pressure that most people never have to face, and learning, in small steps, how to remain human under extreme conditions.