The thing is I am really alone

And there is nothing that will change this. At times my tiny social net appears almost non-existent. I am reaching out and in return hear a loud echo most of the time. And then I don't reach out any longer. I cannot bear explaining this monstrous illness yet again, while anticipating someone's withdrawal. The clueless shaking of heads, the embarassed giggle and "all will be well" drivel. And the long silence. I have started reading "In your face" by Lia Mills which is very moving and recognisable to some extent but her dscription of friends and their support makes me weep. I don't have it. I am alone. People are as clueless as most of the doctors, curious once, and then drift away and I cannot bring myself to ask again. My companions are virtual. The loneliness roars inside me.