These two feelings are hardly things humans strive for: pain and loneliness. Quite the opposite, in fact, because they are unpleasant and often unbearable. Yet there is so much pain and loneliness around us, all the time. It’s even there when we can’t see it, or don’t choose to see it.

In basic terms, pain comes in two forms: physical and psychological. Indeed, one can bring on the other. Many believe that psychological pain manifests in the physical, causing bodily illnesses. Hence one reason why doctors might tell their heart-diseased patients to avoid stress. Some of you might be able to relate to this.

What about physical pain causing psychological pain? When your body is pain, it is maddening. Pain is maddening. I have been there many times. I’ve been in so much physical pain that had a gun been on the hospital bed, I might have been tempted to end my pain. I have cried in pain, wishing a different part of my body was hurting, because I was certain it would still be less pain than I was feeling right then and there. This pain is lonely. Your loved ones see that you are in pain; they want to help you, but they cannot. While you might not be alone, you certainly sit in loneliness with that pain.

I am reading a really good book at the moment – “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine” by Gail Honeyman. I was struck by a quote that appeared originally in Olivia Laing’s book “The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone”:

“Loneliness is hallmarked by an intense desire to bring the experience to a close; something which cannot be achieved by sheer willpower, or by simply getting out more, but only by developing intimate connections. This is far easier said than done, especially for people whose loneliness arises from a state of loss or exile or prejudice, who have reason to fear or mistrust as well as long for the society of others….The lonelier a person gets, the less adept they become at navigating social currents. Loneliness grows around them, like mould or fur, a prophylactic that inhibits contact, no matter how badly contact is desired. Loneliness is accretive, extending and perpetuating itself. Once it becomes impacted, it is by no means easy to dislodge.”

What does all of this really mean? Well, let’s look at the first sentence. In order to rid oneself of loneliness, we must create “intimate connections”. We need other people in our lives. Eleanor Oliphant has made it her business to avoid people. However, the book explores the breakdown of this loneliness, as someone comes along and pulls her into very small social situations and away from the very “prophylactic that inhibits contact”: Loss.

Most of us, if not all, have felt loss, in varying degrees. When my grandparents passed away, my cousins, siblings and I felt it. Our parents felt this even more intensely, as they had now lost their own parents. However, two of my grandparents had known the worst kind of loss there is. Their daughter, my aunt, a sister to my Dad and my other aunts, had passed away decades before. Losing a child is a suffocating pain and living in this pain is lonely. This loneliness is “accretive” – such a pertinent word, as the pain is indeed cumulative and never-ending. It is next to impossible to “dislodge” and we shouldn’t be so arrogant to believe that we can remove this pain from ourselves, nor anyone else for that matter. A few weeks ago, I told a friend that I wish I could take away her pain. “It’s my pain,” she replied. Of course, it really is. All the wishing in the world is not going to take away the pain.

So, if you can’t remove the pain, what can you do? You can sit next to those who sit in their pain and loneliness. Just be there for them….always. No matter how helpless you might feel. It’s not about you. It’s their loneliness and it’s their pain.

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