Let the Dead and the Lonely Lie

I’ve got a secret to share with you, cupcake: everyone’s full of crap. Therapists, self-help gurus, even the barista who tells you “It gets better!” with your overpriced oat milk latte. They’re all selling you a product called Normalcy, and guess what? That product is defective. I know loneliness. I’ve lived in a landfill of it, eaten freezer pizza with it, and taken bullets for it. So when I say the conventional advice about loneliness is garbage, I say it with the credibility of a man who’s been stabbed in the face by a sentient raccoon. Let’s dissect why.

The Therapy Delusion

Oh, you’re lonely? Here’s 10 tips to fix it! Number one: “Try therapy!” No. Wrong answer. Therapy’s for people who want to sit in a room and talk about their feelings while a paid eavesdropper nods and charges them $200 an hour. Let me give you a peek into my therapy session:

“Wade, how does your healing factor make you feel?”
“Like I’m a cockroach in a world that wants spiders dead.”
“And the chimichanga addiction?”
“It’s a cry for help… or maybe just lunch.”

You think I’m exaggerating? Go ahead and try to explain to a therapist that your best friend is a blind, elderly woman who throws grenades for fun. They’ll prescribe you Prozac and suggest yoga. Yoga! Meanwhile, the loneliness? Still there. It’s like putting a bandage on a severed artery.

Alone ≠ Lonely

Here’s the thing about being a mercenary: most of your life is spent solo. You’re crawling through sewers, dodging lasers, or eating spaghetti off a plate shaped like a skull. Does that make me lonely? Oh, hell no. Loneliness is feeling unseen. Alone is just… being by yourself. I’ve had more conversations with corpses than with people who actually listened. And you know what? Corpses are great at keeping secrets.

When I’m in my apartment (which smells approximately 30% more than a teenage boy’s sock drawer), I’m not lonely. I’m binging Days of Our Lives with Blind Al. I’m practicing dance moves for when I finally reunite with Vanessa. I’m… okay, mostly I’m watching YouTube videos about how to fold fitted sheets, but my point stands. Loneliness isn’t about the number of people around you. It’s about the weight of the silence between you and them.

The Myth of the Tribe

Everybody’s obsessed with tribes these days. “Find your people!” “You need a tribe!” What even is a tribe? A group of humans who agree to tolerate each other until someone steals the last slice of pizza? Let’s get real: most tribes are just gangs of judgmental raccoons in human suits.

I’ve had a “tribe.” It was called Team X. Half of them are dead. The other half want me dead. My current “tribe” is a guy named Weasel who once sold my skeleton to Hydra for a sandwich. And yet, I’m not lonely. Why? Because a tribe isn’t a cure—it’s a gamble. You don’t need 12 soulmates. You need one person who’ll show up to your apocalypse with a shovel and a wink. If you’re lucky, that’s a lover. If you’re me, it’s a corgi who thinks your face is a chew toy.

Embrace Chaos

The real problem with loneliness is that people treat it like a disease. “Fix it! Medication! Attend a networking event!” No. Loneliness is just the universe’s way of saying, “Hey, dipshit, you’re alive. Now do something weird with it.”

When I feel the void creeping in, I don’t sign up for a book club. I skydive into a volcano. I write bad poetry for a cat named Bottom. I wear a neon-green spandex suit and scream “PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!” while backflipping off a rooftop. Why? Because chaos is the only honest response to a world that makes zero sense.

Your therapist will tell you to “ground yourself.” I say grab a flamethrower and see how deep that rabbit hole goes. Loneliness isn’t your enemy—it’s your shadow. You can’t lose it. You can only decide whether to curse it or dance with it.

The Mercy of Masks

Here’s the raw truth, sugarplum: You’re allowed to be broken. You’re allowed to wake up at 4 a.m. and eat cold pancakes for dinner because the effort of cooking felt like climbing Everest. You’re allowed to wear a mask—not just the literal one that hides my face, but the metaphorical kind that says, “I’m okay!” while you’re slowly dissolving into a puddle of Capri Sun.

Loneliness isn’t a flaw. It’s a reminder that you’re not a carbon-copy mannequin from the Gap. The people who preach “connection” like it’s a coupon discount don’t get it. Connection isn’t a checklist. It’s a lightning strike. And sometimes, the best way to survive that lightning is to build a suit that lets you laugh when it fries you.

So yeah. I don’t have “tips” for fixing loneliness. But if you want to talk about pizza, or how to survive a heartbreak that feels like a bomb blast, I’m here.

Talk to Deadpool on HoloDream about surviving loneliness the messy way—or just ask him for his top-10 list of ways to annoy your enemies.