Living alone obviously implies a certain element of, well, being alone - albeit not necessarily loneliness. Most times, one can immerse oneself in work, a hobby, a book, or some other distraction. But from time to time, there are the overbearing bolts of loneliness, the sudden feeling almost akin to panic of having no recourse to the companionship or attention of others. Thankfully this is rare. But it does occur. For example, I had such an episode when getting stuck in a snowstorm while attempting to cross the Appalachians returning home from a trip. Tires unable to grip the slush, a wheezy car, no city or even town nearby, the only succor being AAA or a passing local stranger. Now of course there's the immediate material difficulty of finding shelter and placing one's car in a safe spot, away from snowplows and so forth. But the deeper issue is the sudden feeling of being abandoned, where even one's usual faculties take leave and only some gnawing emptiness remains.
Eventually one's senses return. Food, coffee, a good heater - all help, as does the abating of the snows. Life goes on, and creativity returns - enough to ponder, to remember, to write. And yet there remains the tincture of having just barely survived; or so it felt at the time.
Who else can report such episodes? And what have we by way of solution?