the weight of an empty home
Sometimes, it’s not the silence that’s deafening—it’s the absence of the ones we wish were there.
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I met loneliness when I was eight. Not the fleeting kind kids usually know. This was deeper, darker. It sat quietly in my chest, a weight I couldn’t shake.
My childhood had a sad little routine.
It played out whenever my dad didn’t come home on time.
Picture me—small feet swinging above the cold tile floor, sitting on top of an old record player. I’d watch the clock, a tiny heart beating in sync with its ticking. Too slow. Always too slow.
I’d press my fingers to the window, tracing lines on the fogged-up glass, trying to pass the time. My eyes were glued to the street. I was waiting for him. His car, rusted and loud, might as well have been a chariot to me. It meant he was back. But the car never showed. Time dragged on.
Tick. Tick.
That clock in the hallway mocked me. Each tick felt like hours.
The apartment, once familiar, now felt strange. The shadows creeping on the walls didn’t help. They turned everything I knew into something colder, darker. The silence was worse than any noise. It suffocated me.
Then it would happen. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Tears.
They’d burn down my face, fast and hot, and I’d cry until my whole body shook.
The sobs were loud, but muffled, swallowed by the empty room.
The darkness didn’t care.
No one did.
I sat there, small and scared, drowning in the silence of an empty home, waiting for someone who I felt like, might never come back.
The Growing Abyss of Solitude
Loneliness and I go way back.
It wasn’t a one-time deal—it stuck around, got under my skin.
As I grew up, that empty feeling dug deeper, leaving behind a crater that never seemed to fill. But here's the thing—I never quite understood it.
So what did I do?
I escaped.
My imagination took over.
I'd lose myself in fantasies, spinning stories where loneliness wasn’t even in the script. A whole other life, a place where everything was just... better.
Art became my outlet. I'd pour my feelings into it—abstract emotions turned into colors, shapes, and strokes. It was my way out. At least for a little while.
In my teen years it didn’t get any better.
Loneliness followed me like a shadow that never learned to leave. Moving from city to city didn’t help, either. Brantford, Stoney Creek, Burlington—back to Brantford again.
No matter where I went, I felt like a drifter, lost in my own story.
Like a traveler who forgot where they were going.
Places blurred together. Schools became ghosts. People faded into silhouettes. Cities all felt the same after a while—just more of the same scenery, painted with different shades.
But that gnawing feeling stuck. Everywhere.
I was the outsider, no matter where I landed. Sure, the map of my life changed, but the loneliness was unshakeable. Like it had made itself at home.
The Burden of Secrets
Those years were a mess. My emotions were locked down tight, stashed away in some back corner of my brain. Hidden. Untouchable.
I wasn’t about to hand them over to the world. Too risky. Especially with my dad’s temper always ready to blow. Silence became my armor. I built walls, stayed safe.
But that loneliness didn’t quit.
I had to find ways out. Daydreams. Art. And later on in life, weed. Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a healthy fix, but it worked. It let me escape for a while. Gave me somewhere else to go when the emptiness got too loud.
These little escapes were all I had.
Every relationship I touched carried a piece of that loneliness.
No matter how hard I tried, I stayed walled off. I was there, sure, but only halfway. Like a ghost lurking at the edge of a party. People laughing, talking—me, silent, invisible, lost in the noise.
The 'shy' kid?
Nah, I was more like the kid who didn’t know how to fit in, period.
Books, movies, music all helped. For a bit. They opened doors, let me live in someone else’s story. For a few hours, I could forget. I’d fall into those worlds, feel what they felt. Joy. Pain.
But when it was over I was back to square one. The book closed. Screen went black. The song faded.
And there I was.
Floating alone again in my own head, the brief escape disappearing like smoke.
Finding Solace in Solitude
As my life’s rhythm has shifted, I’ve found an unexpected refuge in silence.
In solitude.
Not the lonely kind, the good kind—the kind you find when the noise finally stops.
Somewhere away from the chaos, tucked in the stillness of the woods. It’s here, surrounded by rustling leaves and whirls of wind, that everything shifts.
Loneliness is simply gone. It melts into something else.
Peace.
A quiet moment with myself.
It’s not isolation; it’s space to breathe, to explore who I am. A pause. A flower blooming in slow motion, revealing layers of self I didn’t even know were there.
Looking back, though, loneliness carved its name deep into my story.
It’s everywhere.
In my relationships. In my work. It’s even splattered across my art.
No part of me is untouched by that ghost. It shaped me. Pushed me to rely on myself, to lean into the quiet. To become more attuned to the subtle vibes people give off—the stuff they don’t say out loud.
But it didn’t just teach me to stand alone.
No, it taught me something bigger: how vital it is to connect.
To love.
To share your life, your mess, your moments with someone else.
That’s where the magic is.
Gratitude amidst Pain
Loneliness has been both a curse and a sculptor, carving pieces of my life in ways I never asked for.
The sting is sharp. Isolation cuts deep. The silence is deafening.
And yet, here I am, strangely grateful for every lesson it’s forced on me.
Yeah, I cried, but those tears have shaped me. They’ve taught me how to want more out of my relationships. Made me chase realness, crave connections that aren’t just surface-level.
Loneliness showed me what vulnerability really means—how exposing your soul, even when rejection’s breathing down your neck, can be a quiet kind of strength.
Born into chaos, raised in the mess of an unstable home, I learned early how to ride those storms. Life threw me around, tossed me from one wave of struggle to the next.
But you know what?
I found stillness in the chaos.
That storm taught me resilience. I turned the hollow ache of being alone into something else. A mirror for self-reflection. A way to grow. A chance to root myself deeper, to connect with others in ways that actually mean something.
I’m not that scared kid anymore.
Life is still a maze, but I’m not lost in it.
I’m a survivor. A dreamer. I make things happen.
Sure, loneliness still tags along—like a shadow that never fully disappears—but now, it doesn’t swallow me whole. Instead, I’ve learned to use it. To hear its cries without letting them drown me. To pull strength from it.
Loneliness used to be a curse, heavy and cold.
But now it’s more like a compass. Pointing me toward who I really am.
Resilient. And Real.
It’s no longer a prison. It’s a door.
A way to dig deeper into myself and the world. Yeah, it’s still chilly sometimes, still cries in my ear, but I’ve found something inside it.
Something warm. Something that’s made me stronger.
And for that, I'm forever grateful.
—Ryan Puusaari
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P.P.S. "We spend so much time avoiding loneliness, but maybe it's the conversation with ourselves that we’re really avoiding."
Healing Thoughts — A Journey of Reflection, Poetry, and Healing, Made Possible by You
Healing Thoughts isn’t just another book—it’s a living, breathing collection of reflections, inspiring quotes, and poetry, all pulled from the heart of this community.
Through the highs and lows, the moments of growth and vulnerability, your support made this book a reality.
Each page is a step toward healing, filled with wisdom, introspection, and emotional insight to guide you on your personal journey.
This book is more than just words—it’s our story.
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