"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."
"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. It makes other people feel like they don't identify with you because they don't know if you are very different to them."
After her husband's death, she encountered an excruciating silence and profound loneliness. On a sunny afternoon others enjoy parks while she rolls on a dark hall floor with 30–40 adults howling, screaming, sobbing and sniffling as paid participants in a cathartic session. The scene illustrates how extreme loneliness can compel dramatic behaviors. When her husband was alive, she rarely felt properly lonely because fame produced isolation and barriers. Fame made other people unsure whether they could identify with her. She has experimented with different coping methods including ice baths, singing bowls and yogic sleep to manage the emotional pain.
Read at Independent
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