Why Am I Still Here?

On a solo trip to the cinema, I’m confronted with the loneliness of my life

Elisabeth Sparkle, played by Demi Moore in The Substance

On Halloween Eve, as I stood in a long queue for The Rio cinema down Dalston’s Kingsland Road, I realised I was alone, while everyone else around me was not.

Usually, I’m a fan of my own company. I’ve travelled countless times alone and don’t hesitate when asking for a ‘table for one.’ I love going to the cinema alone. But this night was different —as the chattering of friends swam around me in that queue, I hated that I was by myself.

I didn’t have anyone to bring with me that night. Halloween has become one of those times like New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s when it becomes glaringly obvious that your life is out of step with those around you. My friends with children were out trick-or-treating and Halloween parties were happening—but I wasn’t invited to them. I exist in limbo —standing among the young people but no longer one of them. Two girls behind me were discussing smuggling in alcohol from the off-license.

Once I made it to my seat, time stood still as the chatter of friends jabbed into my loneliness. I felt awkward while knowing that no one was paying me any attention —self-conscious and invisible all at once.

I was jealous. In my twenties, I had so many friends around me all the time that I didn’t even go to the supermarket alone. We all occupied close corners of East London. Since then, people have been peeling further and further away and I’m asking —Why am I still here?

The pang of nostalgia I felt for my youth was apt because the film I was about to watch was a horror about a woman desperate to experience the joys of youth again through something called The Substance.

The Substance promises a woman in her fifties, Elisabeth Sparkle, played by Demi Moore, a ‘A new, younger, more beautiful, more perfect, you.’ After bouts of loneliness and being ignored, the faded star injects herself with The Substance.

While watching this film, I was in the middle of my own process of injecting myself to freeze time. My substance was a cocktail of hormones so I could artificially create eggs to extract a part of myself and put it on hold.

The egg freezing process, like Sparkle’s The Substance, is an undignified experience. At one point she crawls under a half-open garage door to get her hit. While the waiting room at the egg freezing clinic has a nicer aesthetic, they’ll throw a random invoice at you that you weren’t expecting on your way out. I’ve stood there, embarrassed, transferring money between accounts so I can pay it.

Egg freezing is an assault on your finances and your body. Every part of it felt like punishment for all the poor financial decisions and bad boyfriends that had brought me to this point. Most cruelly, it made me more sensitive about my age. This isn’t helped when I meet guys a few years younger than me and they say they like an older woman. I look around the room before I realise they’re talking about me.

So much of the attractiveness of youth is tied to symbols of fertility. The young version of Demi Moore after she takes The Substance, Sue, is played by the pouty-lipped, Margaret Qualley who has a voluptuous bottom and long hair. Sue is showered with adoration and an abundance of opportunity —it’s a stark contrast to the increasing loneliness that couples Demi’s character’s ageing.

Sue, The Substance

At no point in the film did I not understand Demi’s character’s desire to inject herself with the hope of a better version of herself and a better life. Throughout the film, I got it. Relics of a time when she was famous are hung around her apartment. She wants some of her glory back. While the consequences of Sparkle’s decisions become increasingly vile and grotesque, right up until the end, I always, always get it. She’s driven by a desire to belong. Something that’s so ingrained into the depths of our bodies, and we’ve been told, as women, that the connection we crave will come from how we look.

Demi’s desire isn’t trivial. If we felt loved, adored and relevant, we wouldn’t feel sad and alone and obsess over how we can paper over the cracks of time on our faces.

Not long before I saw The Substance, I felt connected to Sparkle’s sadness. In the months preceding this cinema trip, I hit my head and suffered a concussion. What followed were months of existing close to hell. My life was a series of headaches, nausea and emotional dysregulation. I couldn’t work for the first few weeks. I had no partner to financially fall back on or make me a cup of tea. No company with sick pay. The buck stopped with me and I had to keep going —it was a huge burden to shoulder alone and the pressure sunk me. The medical advice included not to be stressed or think too much. I couldn’t even watch TV. Time moves incredibly slowly if you can’t use your brain without feeling sick. It was one of the most lonely and isolating times in my life.

One day, the concussion lifted and I bounced back, but it will never leave me. I can’t shake the feeling about the state of my life. In contrast, fifteen years ago, when I had a far more serious accident and bang to the head, I was surrounded by friends. I had a partner and I recovered quickly. The concussion, like egg freezing, made me aware of my age, my life stage, and the loneliness that can come with it.

Of course, I’m neither old nor truly alone. Life is fragile and each day is a gift. My friend died, a sharp reminder that I’m not old at all. To die at this age is a great tragedy. His memorial, held the day after my egg collection, was a presentation that the only legacy we leave behind is our loved ones.

As The Substance ended, the room erupted with applause. I’d had a great time because I hadn’t watched it alone, but in a room of hundreds of people gasping in shock and laughing in horror. This had been a community event in a place like no other. A friend texted to say they’re moving to Dalston. And I understood, as the lights came up in the dusty red room at The Rio, that my Halloween night out in this unique space, is why I’m still here.

With love,

Tiff 🧡

Thank you for reading. It’s good to be back!