There are worse things than being alone.

There is being together. Being together with tyranny, intimidation, physical abuse. Being together with lies and deceit. With humiliation. Being together with the wee hours of the morning as you wait and pray with every breath that your love will walk through the door. Sober. Unharmed. Faithful. And there is being together with the grim realities instead.

There is giving. Giving until there is no more to give, until there is nothing left inside except barren walls and tattered remnants of sub-flooring. There is giving of your time, your energy, your will to keep your love alive. Being there for the other no matter what. No matter that they are not there for you. There is giving in. Giving out. Giving up.

There is pain. Physical pain, as angry blows rain down on your head. As the eye blackens. As the jaw swells. There is spiritual pain born of the inner knowledge that you can do something to change this yet you are paralyzed, unwilling to act. There is emotional pain as the heart cries out for understanding, for tolerance, compassion, and love, and finds only empty spaces.

There is slavery. Slavery of the heart, the mind, the soul. Self-imposed slavery born of the conviction that you need love in order to survive. That you must pay whatever price is necessary. Subjugate yourself. Deny yourself. Kill yourself ideal by lofty ideal. Enslave yourself to an unattainable and undesirable goal.

There is persecution. The deliberate slow destruction of ego, self-esteem, confidence, integrity, honor, of all that is dear to you. There is persecution for imagined wrongs, perceived weaknesses, unrealized standards. There is the predatory dismantling of the mind and the heart, the acidic erosion of the self.

There is suffering. Vast, deep pools of suffering where one can immerse themselves in the experience and enjoy it fully. There is the suffering of fools disguised as lovers. The suffering of the spirit seeking to know some lofty height which can never be obtained on this plane. The suffering of the body as it grows old and weary. The suffering of the soul as it does the same.

There is fear. Fear of losing that which is familiar, though deadly. Fear of the unknown. Of tomorrow. Of yesterday. Fear that yesterday may repeat itself and that tomorrow will never come. Fear of failure, fear of success. Fear of fists. Doubled-up fists driven by fury. Fear that the next thing to be broken will be you. Again.

Yet more than broken bones, more than broken spirit, more than inequity and imbalance and emotional blackmail, there is fear of being alone.

There are worse things than being alone.