There is something deeply unsettling about cases in
which violence becomes entangled with an inability to accept loneliness. Dennis
Nilsen, the Scottish serial killer, murdered men and kept their bodies in his
home. On more than one occasion, he washed a victim, placed him in his bed, and
slept beside the corpse, seemingly recreating the companionship he could not
sustain with the living.
Cases involving bodies preserved in freezers reveal
similarly disturbing attempts to prevent separation, although their motivations
varied and should not simply be interpreted as a desire for companionship. What
makes these cases haunting is the thought that, in profoundly disturbed
individuals, the fear of being alone can become so distorted that even death
becomes preferable to absence.
The point is not that loneliness produces violence. It
does not. Rather, these extreme cases compel us to confront a more ordinary
question: **What happens when we become so uncomfortable with being alone that
we constantly seek ways to escape it?**
Some people become uneasy when left by themselves. In
that discomfort, they fill every silence with tasks, conversations, errands, or
endless activity. They may appear remarkably productive, when beneath that
composed exterior, a chaotic current of emotions is quietly moving.
Sometimes, busyness is not productivity at all. It is
a way of avoiding the stillness in which loneliness, anxiety, or
long-suppressed thoughts might finally become audible.
Research on experiential avoidance suggests that
people sometimes engage in behaviors designed to escape, suppress, or distract
themselves from uncomfortable thoughts and emotions (Hayes et al., 1996). What
looks like constant activity may therefore be more than a busy lifestyle. It
may be an attempt to outrun something within.
When people struggle to regulate their emotions and
are reluctant to engage in honest self-assessment, they may suppress what they
truly feel and redirect those emotions toward other people, activities, or
distractions. This may provide temporary relief, but what remains unexamined
does not necessarily disappear.
Instead, unresolved emotions may eventually surface as
anxiety, irritability, strained relationships, or other forms of psychological
distress. What begins as a coping mechanism can, when repeatedly relied upon,
become a pattern that slowly undermines psychological well-being.
In its more severe forms, particularly when combined
with profound psychological disturbance and other complex risk factors, such
patterns may become part of a broader clinical picture. Yet this should never
be used to equate ordinary loneliness or emotional struggle with dangerousness.
Perhaps that is why some people, despite having
limited understanding of mental and psychological health, are quick to label
those who behave differently as “insane.” It is easier to name what we do not
understand than to pause and ask what might be happening beneath the behavior.
Perhaps the real challenge is not learning how to
escape being alone, but learning how to remain with ourselves when there is
nowhere else to hide. Self-awareness allows us to recognize what we feel;
self-regulation teaches us not to be ruled by it. Solitude, then, need not be
an empty space to fear, but a quiet opportunity to listen, confront what needs
healing, and discover who we are when no one else is around.
If we cannot learn to be alone with ourselves, we may
spend our lives running from the very silence that could have taught us who we
are.
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