Loner. Outcast. Outsider.

How are you supposed to feel about returning to being a loner? How are you supposed to react when you feel like the outcast of your social group, and the outsider to your own social life?

All of the above, is true of me. I am returning to a life I never thought I'd return to, and once again I feel lonely.

I feel like the outcast in my group of mates. That is definitely becoming true: over the past year, I've been studying for a qualification in Journalism, and a lot of my spare time at weekends has instead been spent revising for exams. Recently, I had some free time and was looking forward to going out - my mates and I even had a Facebook message group going about meeting up. But then I found out that I was being ignored by my mates, who decided to go off and have a night out without me (having already said they couldn't because they had work in the morning - lies? Why are they avoiding me?).

I am the outsider to my own social life: the summation of this petty blog post. It is the inevitable conclusion that I must face in order to review a set amount of events that can only be realised with one horrible little word: fate.

I had a social life - I did! But that was called University. My social life started when I started university, and finished just after my graduation.

About a year afterwards.
But still, it has ended.
Finished.
The End.
Fin.

Every photograph - every memory - has now faded like shoddy photo prints and poor quality Polaroid-wannabes.

Every meet-up in the future now just a worthless heap of never-will-happen's lying amongst the banana skins and household waste in the bin, outside.

Everyone who can be out tonight, is out tonight. All while I lay on my bed, typing this meaningless garbage, wondering if someone else is out there reading this and laughing at me and my problems while they enjoy their life.

Or, am I over-reacting? Did they forget to check their messages, and I just accidentally fell into the never-ending spiral of texts? Was it all just a mistake and I'm the boon for over-thinking everything?

Have I finally become mad? Obsessed with how others view me and how they'll view me when I'm no longer here? Is this what madness feels like? Am I ready to be imprisoned and locked (or, kept?) away from society - in a mental asylum.

Is this the beginning of the end, for me and my life?