No matter how much my appearance changed, or how old I was or how many friends I have gotten over the years, there is something me and my inner child can both agree on: we are both excluded. Being excluded as a child hurts badly once you realise you will never be part of those groups you see on television. You are not part of the main group of friends, you are the kid they make fun of, in order for their bond to grow stronger since they have a common enemy. Growing up, it’s exactly the same. This time, you no longer feel excluded, you actually feel alone. There’s a difference between the two. You can be excluded from a certain group but others accept you with open arms. Being alone means that you’re excluded from everyone. 

When you’re alone, there’s no comfort of finding “your people” somewhere else; it’s like the world quietly decided you don’t fit anywhere. You stop waiting for an invitation and start rehearsing conversations in your head just to fill the silence. You try to convince yourself that you enjoy your own company, but deep down, you crave a connection that never comes. The inner child, once confused and hurt by exclusion, grows into an adult who is simply tired — tired of trying, tired of hoping, tired of watching life happen from the outside looking in.

And what’s even more painful is the realization that the rules haven’t changed since childhood: social circles still guard their borders, people still choose the familiar over the different, and you’re still the odd one out. But now you’re old enough to know that it’s not always your fault, and old enough to wonder if this loneliness is permanent. Because sometimes the deepest ache isn’t in being disliked, but in feeling invisible.

Growing up, I sometimes felt alone even in my family home. I feel at times disapproving glances all over me. I pretend not to. What happened, I wonder sometimes? I have always been the type of child that did everything just right, studied hard, got good grades. Now why isn’t anyone cheering for me? I still try hard. I still get good grades. I failed my driver’s license and I almost feel crucified for it. Sometimes you want to find excuses for all the reasons you are alone. You try to blame it on others but you refuse to change. 

You start to wonder if there’s something wrong with you that you can’t see, something everyone else quietly notices but no one says out loud. The silence of your family feels heavier than any words; it makes every small failure echo ten times louder. You tell yourself it’s just one mistake, just one missed milestone, but their disappointment seeps into you until it feels like a flaw in your character, not just a bump in the road.

And then the self-blame begins. You replay every conversation, every look, every sigh, searching for proof that you’re the problem. You think: maybe if I smiled more, spoke less, tried harder, things would be different. But the truth is, you’ve already given so much of yourself, bent over backward for approval that never comes. You don’t know how to stop needing it. You don’t know how to be your own cheerleader when the people who should believe in you the most are the ones who make you feel like you’ll never quite measure up.

So you drift between blaming them for never seeing your worth and blaming yourself for not being worthy enough. You keep pretending everything is fine because admitting you feel unloved would make it too real. And sometimes you think: maybe if I just disappear a little more, take up a little less space, they’ll finally notice how empty the room feels without me.

You need to find a way to exist. For me, that was writing. No matter how alone I felt in a group of people, my phone and my Word App were seconds away. I took all of this pain and turned it into words. There is no remedy for loneliness but you have to keep living somehow. This is how I keep living and how I get my rush of adrenaline one gets from hanging out with friends. I pour myself in writing and I try to keep my head high. Dear reader, if you feel the same, you need to find your own release. And soon, you will not care that you are alone. Because with your passion, you are not. 

Fotini Tzouveleki