Loneliness

I just read an article in the on-line version of the Chicago Tribune about a man in Berlin who was so lonely he jumped into a polar bear’s cage for company.

No lie. He jumped into the moat just inside the cage because he felt lonely. That’s what he said.
The zoo-keepers lured the bear away with a leg of beef so the lonely guy remained lonely but he wasn't eaten.

I’ve been there. Not Berlin and not in polar bear’s cage, but lonely. And it’s terrible. It’s terrible at any time of year but it’s particularly terrible at this time of the year.

Once, about thirty years ago, I was forced by drink and other circumstances to spend a few months as a guest of the Salvation Army in Tampa. It wasn’t as bad as you might think. I had to pray for my supper, but that was okay. A few cots away from mine there was a huge man who roared in his sleep with enough force to make the walls tremble, but that was okay because I wasn’t sleeping in my car. I had to smoke roll-my-own cigarettes and couldn’t drink but at least I was safe.

What was terrible was the loneliness.

And it was Christmas.

I’d been the editor of a weekly paper in a small town near Tampa, so I knew people professionally. I’d been married, twice, in fact, and I had two small children and parents and two brothers so it wasn’t as if I was from another planet. I even had a few friends, friends I hadn’t driven away with my drinking.

But I was alone. I understood why. I understood it was my own fault. But it was truly painful. And it seemed to me that everywhere I looked I saw a couple holding hands or a family laughing or two friends in earnest conversation. Oh, yeah. That and the Christmas trees.

On Christmas Eve, the Salvation Army folks gave each resident an orange, a few pieces of chocolate, and a couple of cookies. I got mine and then I sat on my bed, thinking.

A few minutes later, one of the Sally workers called my name. That’s what those who live on the streets call the Salvation Army. Sally. Anyway, one of the Sally people called my name and told me I had a phone call. I was so excited I half ran to the phone, leaving my Christmas orange and candies and cooked on my bed.

The phone call was unimportant. I don’t even remember who it was. What I remember was that when I got back to my bed, my Christmas goodies were gone. I don’t think badly of the guy who took them; hell, it was instinct pure and simple. Given the chance, I would have done the same. But, damn, it hurt.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt that lonely again, ever. In its way it was a lot worse than the cancer is now.

So I can understand why the guy in Berlin hopped the wall to get in the cage with the polar bear. He probably wanted to be eaten.