Victoria Mary Clarke on loneliness. 'After Shane's funeral there was an enormous comedown. There were thousands of people there. But afterwards when everyone had gone back to their normal lives, the silence was excruciating'

"It's a sunny, Sunday afternoon and it's warm outside and other people are walking their dogs and kids in the park, or sitting around chatting with their friends. I'm rolling around on the floor in the dark in a huge hall with 30 or 40 other fully grown adults, all of whom are howling their heads off and screaming and sobbing and sniffling and bawling. We have all paid to be here. This is what extreme loneliness can make you do."

"I'm rolling around on the floor in the dark in a huge hall with 30 or 40 other fully grown adults, all of whom are howling their heads off and screaming and sobbing and sniffling and bawling. We have all paid to be here. This is what extreme loneliness can make you do. When my husband was alive, which was nearly two years ago, it was hard to be properly lonely. We were a bit isolated because fame can create barriers."

The narrator confronts intense loneliness after the death of a husband nearly two years earlier. Solitude becomes unbearable enough to join a group session where adults howl, scream and sob together. The contrast between sunny public life and private anguish intensifies the experience. Prior to bereavement, fame created emotional distance and made deep loneliness less accessible. The bereaved person experiments with varied coping methods, including ice baths, singing bowls and yogic sleep, searching for relief and reconnection. The emotional landscape shifts from detachment to raw public expressions of grief and ongoing attempts to navigate daily life.

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