When you lose someone you love in an awful way, you begin to crave aloneness. The rest of the world is uncomprehending and very likely mad as well, so why bother with it? You find yourself prepared to structure your entire life around this aloneness, or wishing you could. You want an indifferent sort of job that doesn’t require much passion or much thinking: just something that pays enough for you to afford the rent, live reasonably cheaply and be as alone as possible. You occasionally meet people who are so awesome that you don’t mind them disturbing your aloneness. They can be people who are experiencing the same thing as you, or who have no idea that you’re experiencing anything at all.
But aloneness is addictive. It’s comforting. It’s convenient. You get used to it. But if you want to live at all, you eventually have to choose the living or the dead. For a while, you won’t realise that you’ve been living with both. But you have, and nobody can live like that. So you have to pick one or the other. And choosing either one will hurt.