We are born with the intimate involvement of at least one other. Often another is present, if not many more. But ultimately we are alone.
I lie in bed alone, despite my partner being next to me. I watch tv alone despite the company of my housemates. I blog alone despite the fact that my words will be read.
For in the end our thoughts and views exist within us. We will never live they life of another. We can not share a tricky moment with the soul of a close friend.
I am alone in my life. I am alone in my treatment. I am alone in my despair. I am alone as I slowly give up hope. Not with the dramatic fanfare of a grand new tumor found by a shiny, expensive machine; But with the slow, triumphant, whimper of one more night of things being just a little bit worse. A slow realisation that the words of Gods can not be undone in an evening alone one the couch with your thoughts.
And so I start down the path, alone and afraid. I can not see the end but I know it is there. The ground is steeper here, I can not help but run. But perhaps that is for the best, for if I were to slow, I would surely see the looks of pity on the faces of those that will never be me.
I am alone as I lie here thinking about the whiskey bottle on the counter, the cheese in the fridge and the pills my doctor can give me with the demure stroke of his expensive pen.
Even when I contemplate weakness there is no reassuring company provided by a comically short man with a tail and a fork. Even the devil does not want to share in my demise.
And in the end who could blame him for shunning the sad sight of a man gently giving up. Not I for one.