Living on your own, without a family or significant other, can be liberating—but it has a price. Having a shared set of experiences makes them seem more real. The interior monolog is a phantasy existence. It is a place where memory's constructs are free from any checks or balances; distortions are inevitable.
Looking back on the memories of my years spent "wandering in the wilderness", I am struck at how ephemeral they seem, more so than those of my childhood or teen years. As my current friends drift away or die, it may be that someday I will once again inhabit a "ghost world" of solitude.