Is Anyone Out There? Living with Loneliness as a Teen 🙃

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Loneliness isn’t just a feeling—it’s a presence, a shadow that clings to me no matter where I go. It follows me through the quiet of my house, lingers in the silence after a conversation ends too soon, and settles in my chest when I realize how long it’s been since I last felt truly connected to someone. It’s not just something I experience; it’s something I live with.

Being autistic makes it harder. I watch people drift in and out of conversations like waves, effortlessly knowing what to say, when to laugh, how to fit in. I stand at the edge of it all, an island surrounded by water too deep to cross. I have people in my life—family, a few friends—but they feel distant, like voices calling from another shore. No matter how much I want to reach them, the words never seem to come out right. So I stay where I am, watching, waiting, hoping that maybe, one day, someone will build a bridge.

Homeschooling only stretches that island further. I don’t have to face the daily exhaustion of school, but I also don’t have the chance to be around people my age. The silence in my house is deafening. My thoughts get so loud they feel like they’re crushing me, yet when I try to share them, it’s like screaming into an empty sky. No echo, no response—just me and the loneliness, sitting together in the quiet.

Sometimes, I convince myself that loneliness is my only companion, the one constant in my life. It hurts, but it’s also familiar. When I see people hanging out, laughing, living their lives together, I feel this sharp ache, this reminder of everything I’m missing. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t need what they have, but I do. I want to be invited, to be thought of, to be missed when I’m not there. But instead, I scroll through social media, watching the world move on without me, trapped in a loop of wondering why I always feel like I’m on the outside looking in.

Reaching out is terrifying. It feels like tossing a message in a bottle into the ocean, knowing it might never be found. When the replies come slow—or not at all—the doubts rush in. Did I say too much? Not enough? Do they even care? My brain replays every interaction like a broken record, picking apart every word until I convince myself I was never wanted in the first place. It’s exhausting, this constant battle between wanting connection and fearing rejection.

And yet, in the stillness of my island, I find pieces of myself. Loneliness forces me to sit with my thoughts, to pour them into drawings, stories, music—anything that makes the silence feel less empty. There’s a strange kind of beauty in it, in the way it allows me to explore the depths of my mind, even when those depths are dark. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it gives me something to hold onto, something that reminds me I still exist, even when I feel invisible.

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know if the loneliness will ever fully leave or if I’ll always carry it with me like a shadow. But I do know this: even in the loneliest moments, I’m not truly alone. There are others out there feeling the same way, drifting on their own islands, waiting for someone to reach out. If you’re one of them, I want you to know that your loneliness doesn’t define you. You are not broken. You are not forgotten.

Maybe we’re all just islands, separated by distance, fear, and silence. But even islands are connected beneath the surface. Even shadows exist because there is light. And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough to keep going.

Remember your worth,

Summer-Rose H xxx