My lone cry for help

Being lonely does very strange and discombobulating things to your mind.

As one of the last to leave for University, I’m starting not to like being alone. No one is there to hug you, to make you laugh, to remind you to eat; that kind of thing.  And I am in tatters after less than a week.

Now, around three of my friends have actually left me so far, but I still can’t help but feel like I’ve been abandoned on a lone island where two of my so called “pals” have taken the last two jetpacks and the other made a makeshift boat for himself.

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And as if to cause insult to injury, he sneaked not only the last of the rum on board but ran away with Wilson. This leaves me in a tricky position, create new friends out of coconuts and continue to live in denial until Thursday or create a way out. And not being a lover of coconut I choose the latter.

It’s not that I’m jealous (I say crying into my fifth cup of tea, curled up in bed with chocolate boxes and Oreo crumbs surrounding me,) I just really want to leave. I want to leave more than Greece wants money. More than Obama wants Michelle. More than Miley Cyrus wants sex. Ok, maybe not that far, but you have to understand, I need people. Or rather, people who will automatically love me.

I hate people on a basic level, not dissimilar to one saying they dislike their tea going cold; but not with quite as much forceful passion as when your biscuit crumbles and breaks off into the newly formed cuppa. I can smile and make awkward conversation about both my life and the weather, much as any slightly more than average British civilian can muster but then I give up caring and end up walking away. Image

I feel my severe deficiency in attention span should be mentioned here but I just spotted a moth on my ceiling and it seems to have been sitting there, unsuspecting for quite a while no-

The moth is me. I am the moth. We are one. Alone and floating in this world, with a general lack of direction just sitting in someone else’s house quietly wondering how to get out.

I would like to specify at this point, I do not in any way talk to Moths. This is an approximate estimate of his thought process, only determined on what I myself may be thinking if I were in his/her position. Under no circumstances may anyone call me the following: Moth Whisperer, Moth Charmer, Moth Girl, Moth Woman, Mothy, Charlotte “Moth” Rhodes, Mothlotte, RMOTH, C-Moth or Moth Dog.

I hope you now understand what my seclusion has done to me.

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