Empty
Updated: Nov 6, 2021
On Loneliness, Social Anxiety and the Empty Cinema
Ok, day two, let’s give this a real try. As many of the writers in my audience will know, November is what’s known as National Novel Writing Month or Nanowrimo for short. In line with this, I’m aiming to put together a piece of writing every day this month bleeding over to the 3rd of December to make up for my missed time. This will mean whether a blog post, poetry, or prose, every day this month I will be trying to post a little piece of my mind somewhere. While I’ll notify you all here, much of my creative writing is better found on my Patreon, (though I may offer a sample here and there), and for the price of a cup of tea a month you can subscribe and read it all. There are other tiers available for those who want more of a say in my musings, (trust me I’ll need it by day 10) or those who wish to support me that little bit more. But enough info-dumping, now on to the main event.
Have you ever felt lonely, despite knowing there is no good reason to do so? Ever been sat in a crowd of people, all who you know well, and just had this sense that you are completely and utterly alone?
Most people who know me will tell you that I’m a people person. That I could talk the ear off a stranger at the drop of a hat, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. But words are easy for me. I can rattle them off the end of my tongue without a second thought. What is harder is connection. It's tough for me to feel solid in a moment, to be fully there with the person I talk to. For the most part, I ramble on, trying to find something that interests them or even better something that they can ramble back at me. But that moment of connection, when both people know that the conversation means something, that’s harder.
Big topics don’t necessarily need that connection. You can converse about the most serious things and never scratch the surface of that feeling. Trust me, I’ve tried, and it’s resulted in some very strange experiences. But I digress, the point I’m trying to make is that often I feel more alone with others than I do with myself.
When I was still at university one of my favourite things to do on a bad day was wander to the cinema for a late-night showing. More oft than not there would be no one as I walked, and the screen would nearly always be mostly if not completely empty. I used to love sitting in that dark room; a massive screen to myself, the rest of the world outside, and just letting the film take me away. I could laugh as hard as I wanted, sing along to songs I knew, cry without fear of anyone judging. It was, I don’t know exactly how to describe it, but it was wonderful, and almost always exactly what I needed.
When I tell other people about my habits most find it rather strange. They think it an oddity to go to the cinema alone, let alone at night when the world is sleeping. Some call me brave but I don’t see it like that. It was how I passed time that would otherwise drive me mad. I went on results night, skipping past midnight with a showing of Wonderwoman in IMAX. I saw LaLaLand and Rocketman like that, singing my way home through the darkness. There were so many more, but I can’t recall them all. The point is that it was my ritual, my escape, and despite the reality of my loneliness I never felt alone.
I’ve never been diagnosed with any form of anxiety, though I have been recommended medications in the past by my GP. However, I do have many of the symptoms of social anxiety. I get nervous in large crowds, especially when speaking publicly, (a feeling I trained myself to ignore through years of acting lessons), and I struggle when meeting new people. You wouldn’t know it of course, my immediate response to any level of anxiety is to talk, usually louder than everyone else. You can tell it’s getting bad when I’m shouting in the corner of a busy party. I don’t run or hide or step away, which would probably make more sense, instead, I talk. And talk. And talk and talk and… you get the picture. I don’t know if it’s a healthy coping mechanism, or if I’m just causing more problems for myself, but it works. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’ll get onto a topic I’m excited about and suddenly I’m not in that room anymore. Instead, I’m in an empty cinema, laughing and chatting away to the people on the screen; and it’s easy.
Loneliness, while technically a physical thing, has always been more metaphorical for me. After all, we can be alone with others or, if reading a good book, crowded while physically on our own. The feeling doesn’t always match the reality, and for me, I often feel less alone with a couple of people than a large group. I don’t know how common this feeling is, or how many people there are out there like me who cope by chatting the arse end off a horse, but I know I feel it. So, to my fellow empty cinema-goers, let's take pride in our enjoyment of the odd. Let’s be alone, together.
Not totally the same motivations as yours but I do understand the wonderful experience. One of my favourite things to do is escape to the cinema on my own. No distractions, no obligations to interact with others and complete absorption in the screen 😊