He sat at the edge of his couch. He flicked through the channels of the television, not really paying attention to what was on each of them, just flicking until he decided to stop. He had no idea what he stopped on, but he didn’t really care to begin with. He just wanted to have something on in the background.
He set the remote down on the floor next to him. He picked up his notebook and pen and put them on his leg. What was he going to write about? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know if he really wanted to write anything. But he knew that if he was writing something he wasn’t taking something.
He wanted too. He really wanted too. It would make whatever was on the television so much more interesting. It would make life in general so much more interesting. But he knew he didn’t need interesting. He needed boring and mundane.
That was what he had been running away from for so long. Boredom. He didn’t know how to be bored. He didn’t know how to entertain himself when nothing else was. He couldn’t find things to do by himself other than taking pills or drinking. And that was the entire problem right there. He hadn’t ever learned how to be bored.
He always had to feel good. He had never entertained the idea that he should be sad or he should be angry or he should be bored. That was impossible. Being sad or angry or bored felt so bad. He did not like any of those things, and because he didn’t enjoy them he shouldn’t have to experience them ever.
At last he had finally found the cause of all his problems. He knew that it wasn’t the addictive quality of those substances. Millions of people all over the world used the same substances and many of them had no problems. It wasn’t other people not understanding his suffering or not listening to him. And probably most importantly it wasn’t part of another disease of some sort. A disease that needed to be treated and suppressed with drugs.
It was the inability to be alone. To be by himself. He was scared of himself. He didn’t know what he would say to himself, how he would entertain himself. But that was only because he had never practiced it. He had never invited loneliness into himself to see how he would deal with it. He raced away from it in search of a cure. But loneliness isn’t something that needs to be solved or cured. It just needs to be felt. And that’s it.