The Loneliness Behind the Screen

When I first joined an online community platform, it wasn’t just out of curiosity—it was out of hope. Hope that I could grow. Hope that I could connect. Hope that maybe, through this digital space, I’d find a deeper understanding of people… and maybe even of myself.

I wanted to improve my conversational English. I wanted to explore empathy in a global setting. I wanted to know what it’s like to truly listen, and be listened to, by strangers who might slowly become friends.

So I showed up as me. My whole, honest self. I shared my thoughts, my stories, my quiet joys and hidden fears. I cared—deeply and fully. I offered kindness the same way I would if someone were sitting right in front of me.

But the online world didn’t meet me the way I met it. Instead of kindness, I found coldness.
Instead of connection, I found conditional attention. People remembered me when they needed something, and forgot me just as easily when I needed them.

Some even used my kindness against me. They pushed boundaries, tested patience, and slowly—without me even noticing—started pulling apart the fabric of my mental health.

I began to unravel. Anxiety crept in like a quiet storm. I felt on edge, never enough, too much, misunderstood. I began questioning not just others, but myself. Was I being too soft? Too trusting? Was it wrong to be kind?

I had panic attacks. Sleepless nights. Moments when my heart would race for no reason at all. All from people I never even met in person.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How something as intangible as words on a screen can weigh so heavily on the soul. The online world is supposed to connect us—but sometimes, it just makes you feel more alone.

And I wish I could say that this story has a perfect, healing ending. But what I’ve learned is that healing doesn’t always look like moving on. Sometimes, it looks like learning how to protect yourself without hardening your heart. It looks like stepping back when things no longer feel safe. It looks like choosing real over curated, quiet over chaotic, peace over presence.

I still believe in the good parts of the internet. In soft corners where people care.
In spaces where voices are heard without being shouted over. But I now know to move slower. To be careful. To protect the softness in me that the world tried to make sharp.

To anyone reading this: if you’ve ever felt broken by the digital spaces you entered with hope—please know, it’s not your fault.You didn’t deserve that.

And I hope, with all my heart, you find the warmth and safety you were searching for. Because we all deserve to be seen—truly seen—and not just when we’re useful. We all deserve kindness, not exploitation. And we all deserve to feel safe, even online.