When I lie in bed is when I feel loneliest. There is no room for anyone else here; it is built just for me. I lie down in my bed for one and remember the scant few times that I have shared a bed with someone else. I have never slept better than those few times.
I miss how it feels to have a woman beside me. To hear her breathing softly as I hold her, her taste still lingering in my mouth.
Some part of me has always known I was not meant to be alone, but circumstance and fear have keep me there. I’m working on the fear, but the circumstance eludes me.
I can’t keep talking about this, but I also can’t stop thinking about it. It isn’t healthy to dwell on this but I don’t know how not to. I try to put it away, but when I try to create art, or write, or sleep, or have a passing idle moment, the thought creeps in unbidden, like a clumsy thief.
It has driven me to the edge before and it threatens to do it again.
No, actually, it won’t. I am stronger than this. The problem here is that sleep approaches and I have to crawl into my bed for one and there is no room here to hide from my fears of loneliness. I am capable of living in isolation, but that doesn’t mean I have any desire to.
I am just as lost now as I have ever been. Lord, give me guidance.
Much of my life has been used fulfilling my senses. I have watched thousands of movies, listened to hundreds of thousands of songs, tasted and smelled hundreds of amazing foods, but in all that, I have rarely ever touched or felt anything. Touch is the sense I have used the least. It is also the sense I want to use the most.
Each sense has one thing that I associate with it, in that, there is one thing I think of most when I think of that sense. Sound is music; sight is art, whether is be drawings, paintings, movies, pictures, or whatever; taste and smell are food; touch is women. I realize that there are other things that go with each one, but if I look at my own life and how I fulfill and appease each of the senses, those are the things I use.
In the end, everything boils down to a sensory experience. I have many memories dedicated to 4 of the 5, but very, very few dedicated to tactile experience. It is a void in my life, and one that I mourn and regret. I crave it far more than any other. I feel its powerful pull all too often.
I miss physical contact more than anything. It’s what I see in my head when I think of being with someone. The feel of a woman is… amazing. All soft and smooth. Even as I type this, I can feel my hands burn at the memory. I miss it and I yearn for it. The void is painful.
I’ve mentioned before that I really want to be held. I’ve never been held before. It’s an awkward proposition considering my size, but I want to know what it is like. I’ve also only been touched a few times. I have touched, but I can only recall a very few times where a woman reached out and initiated contact or did anything more than return a hug.
I cherish the memories I have that are related to my sense of touch. They are some of the most powerful I have. Lying next to a woman, feeling her pressed against me, warm and soft. Running my hands over her hips, her stomach, her pubic hair. Pressing my lips to her shoulder as her hair brushes across my face. Her head resting on my arm as it passes beneath her. Running my hand deeper, feeling her thighs press against the sides of my hand as her pubic hair scratches my hand; my fingers seeking her out. Her legs opening and draping across me as I brush over her hood and part her lips. Her warm stickiness on my fingers as I slide my fingers inside of her. The way her breath feels on my head as she sighs, rolling towards me to allow me to take her breast in my mouth. How hot she is beneath my palm and around my fingers as they coax her further. Everything about her is softer and wetter than I could have ever imagined possible. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt…
And I will never know it again. At least, not from her. I don’t even know if I will feel it from another. As beautiful as it was, it is also painful knowing that I have never felt better than I did at that moment and I can never have it again. The memory is haunting. The thought that I can never feel her again is almost enough to drive me to tears. The thought that I may never feel anyone that way again is enough to drive me to tears.
It isn’t really her that I miss though. I knew I would never have her. It is the tactile experience. I have always craved it and that brief shining moment with it makes me want it all the more. It wasn’t enough to have it for a weekend. I want to know it for the rest of my life.
And, though I have described the sexual experience here, that is just an aspect of it. I want all that goes along with it, which I could not have on my trip. As beautiful as the experience I had was, it was very much lacking. I never got to feel her lips on mine; never got to just sit beside her and hold her while watching nothing at all on TV; never got to really hold her and have her hold me back. The sexual component was amazing, but what I want most of all is the quiet, intimate part of it.
I don’t understand why I want someone in my life so badly. I can’t tell you where the desire comes from. I can’t even tell you what exactly the desire is. Sometimes it is to feel someone beside me. Sometimes it is to feel comforted. Other times it is to feel like I have someone to share myself with. Occasionally it is just to fuck someone. I see no reason behind it, no pattern. It is just there and sometimes the want of it drives me to tears.
I do not understand this at all. I don’t even know if I will want a relationship once I have one. I am a very independent person. I don’t often need people around. In the past 3 weeks I have seen nobody but my mother. I haven’t talked to anyone but my best friend, my mother, my aunt, and a couple work colleagues. I speak for less than 30 minutes per day, on average. I do not need human contact to survive. I can get along fine without it. Yet, in spite of that, the desire remains. It confounds me.
I have been ignoring it lately though. I’ve been swamped at work since I got the promotion. I’ve been drawing a lot since I got the tablet. In all, I have rarely had time to think about it. Yet, when I lie down to sleep and I do not pass out right away (like tonight) it is all I can think of.
I don’t want to think about it. I can’t really do anything about it. But, still, the thought is there. Haunting me. I wish I could truly put it aside. It is irrational. I understand it is an impossibility, yet it persists.
It will drive me mad one day. Probably sooner than I think. I just want it to be done before it takes what little sanity I still have.
I think I just want to be accepted and loved for who I am by someone other than my family (and my best friend is 100% family). I’m tired of being a friend. I love very easily. It’s a curse, but only because it has never brought good into my life. Those I have loved have always called me friend…
I’m not even going to pretend that this is sane. I am not that.
This new schedule is fucking with me. Granted, this is only my second day on it, but it is confusing my body. It has me in a hyper-emotional state. I’m really not sure what to do with myself. I went to bed at 1 pm and initially woke up at 6 pm with my body telling me it was time to get up because I was wasting the day away. I tried to go back to sleep, and eventually did, but it wasn’t very restful.
“Oh, it’s so hard doing it alone! I wish I didn’t have to.” That’s what is running through my head and it is extremely annoying. I can do this. I don’t actually need anyone to help me with this. I’m not going to fail and curl up because I have to do it all alone. I always get it done when I need to. That said, it would be easier if I weren’t alone. If I had direct support from someone that cared. But I don’t, so I do as I have always done and dig deep and do.
This will be for the best. I needed this change to enact things in my life. On my old schedule, I just couldn’t paint. I need to paint, but because I worked 5 pm to 2 am, I had no time to do so. before work I just wasn’t feeling creative and after work is too late to be running a compressor. So, I decided to go to nights, working from 12 – 9 am. I think it will work out well, even if the schedule adjustment is fucking with me.
This first week will be a wash. I have no plans for it other than to work and to get my body used to this new schedule. It will not be easy, but it will get done. I am already very nearly on the sleep pattern I want, I just need to let my body acclimate to it so that it stops trying to wake me up after just a couple hours of sleep.
After that first week, the plan is to start incorporating elements of a new lifestyle into it. The first element will be walking again. I haven’t done it at all in probably 2 months. Between my trip, my emotional and spiritual state, and everything else that has been happening lately, it was just too much for me, so I put it off. Now that I am getting it all straightened out again, it is time to start walking again. I am going to try and sync that with a renewed sense of eating healthy. I’ve kind of been doing that, but not as well as I could or should. It isn’t that I do not like to eat healthy, it is just easier and more convenient not to. That’s a shit excuse though, so I’m going to stop using it.
The painting is the next big step to add in. I don’t know when that will be added though. Art in general will just happen sporadically throughout, much as it always has in my life. I’m going to try and learn to make it happen though. I can’t entirely be an airbrush artist if my art just happens on a whim. My most personal art will always happen on a whim and a thought, but I need to learn to be able to create other things at will.
That’s about all I really have set out for myself in getting this all handled. I know I can do it, it will just take time. The current plan may turn out to be ambitious, but I will try to make it work as best I can. I need to get a handle on my life.
Until I finally have what it is I have searched for my entire life, I will always feel the void of it. I know and I understand that it is not the time for it yet, but I can never fully put it out of my mind. It is a part of me. It hurts me. It has destroyed me in the past. I am doing all that I can to put it out of my mind, but it is still there, waiting and lurking.
It has brought me to tears several times this week. This week was huge. I got a promotion I have been working towards for months, I got a new avenue for art, and I got my finances in better shape for the first time in many years. I am so incredibly happy for all that I got this week, but there is that lost and lonely part of me that mourns that in all my happiness, I have no one to share it with.
I’ve thought about it more though, but in a different way. Though I am thinking about being alone, I am thinking more of what it is that I crave and need in this loneliness rather than just ‘I’m alone, I hate this, give me anything!!’. I see now that what it is that I crave is not some hyper-sexual goddess to fuck my brains out. What I want most of all is someone that I can sit with and talk with and share my life with. I don’t see much meaning in doing things for myself. I’ve never cared much for myself. I want more to share who I am with others. I am fully aware of who I am, I don’t need to do things to edify myself.
Except, I do. I am a broken individual. I have a lot of issues I need to sort through and I need to learn to actually do things for myself. I have been working on this; it’s why I bought the tablet and other things to advance my art, but I still only do it in very few ways. I need to get a handle on my life. I need to be the one in control of it. What do I really have to share with another right now? A broken shell that is waiting to be filled. There’s more than that, but my personality, intelligence, and whatever else will be overshadowed by my overwhelming sense of brokenness. I do have much to offer, but I don’t think I’m ready to really offer it yet. I want to, have wanted to for years, but I don’t know that I actually can yet. I can’t know until it happens though.
I have no knowledge in this subject at all. I just know what it is I want and what I want to do.
On top of the 5 entries I have posted this week, I’ve tried to write about 5-7 other entries that just wouldn’t form. They were all very fractured and incomplete. I’ve felt drawn to write whenever I started them, but I have been unable to form the thoughts that are floating around. I’ve tried to write about love, loneliness, friendship, music, and more. The music one is the most complete, but even that wouldn’t finish.
I think I’ve said all that I can on most of those subjects for now. Most of my entries have been about love or loneliness and I think I’ve come to the end of that for now. It doesn’t feel like the past where it would build up to the point of being overwhelming. This time, it feels like I’ve just talked it to its stopping point. There’s not much more I can say. I think that going forward, I need to just put it out of my mind for a time. At this point, talking about it can’t do anything else for me, so I need to just accept that I do not have love for now and that I am to be alone for a while longer yet.
These past 4 weeks have been tumultuous and exciting. So much has happened and I’ve written about all of it. I have written at a furious pace and part of me feels like I need to keep it up, which is ironic considering I felt like I was posting too much when it was happening. The reality is, I don’t need to write here. I do this because it helps me focus my thoughts into something far more coherent than what happens in my mind. My mind is a… unique… place. I’ll not lie, it is extraordinary. However, that translates to working on so many different levels that I can’t always keep track of them all. This blog is here to help me find the threads in some of the levels and follow them and place them in some sort of order that makes sense to myself. Once they are ordered, I can distinguish them from the tangents that form around them and find conclusions to the thoughts.
I’ve talked with my best friend about this blog. It kinda pisses him off. He wishes I would talk to him directly about stuff in this blog and wonders why I can’t do that when I can post it so freely here for others to read. I’ve tried to explain it, but I am not that great in face to face chats. Here, I have hours to find and craft the words. Face to face I have seconds, and while I am quick witted, real answers don’t come that quickly for me. I need to think about how to say stuff before I say it. While I write this in a manner that suggests I am writing to a large audience of readers, I’m not. I just don’t know how to write any other way. I’m only writing this to myself. Yes, I post it to the internet at large, but I don’t expect anyone to read it. I would like for that to happen, but I don’t expect it.
I can’t entirely explain why I post this. I think I just want people to know who I am and understand me. As my best friend pointed out, I want to be accepted. I’ve rarely ever been accepted for exactly who I am. That’s not the entire reason for it though, it’s just a small part of it. I think I just want people to know who I am. I have always felt invisible. With few exceptions, I have always felt replaceable. I want to feel somehow special. I know, “You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.”, but doesn’t everyone want to feel special in some way? I want to feel like someone needs me in their life. I know my best friend feels that way, but that is very different, though that may just be taking him for granted which is wholly unfair. I wouldn’t be anywhere if it weren’t for him, but there is one role in my life he can’t play.
It’s that role that I write about so much. It is the one thing I have yet to have any experience with and it is the thing I’ve been looking for the longest. In truth, I don’t know why I want it so badly. There is a very distinct possibility that I will find someone and find out that I really don’t want that. In spite of all my talk of loneliness, I’m actually pretty good at being alone. I can take care of myself well enough and don’t need someone around me at all times. In fact, I have problems being around people in general. I don’t really like them. Because of that, relationships may just fail for me. However, I have always felt a longing to be with someone. All I have to go on is how I feel when I have a woman to talk to that seems to be progressing towards something other than friendship. The only real conclusion I can come to about all of this is ‘I don’t know’.
That brings me back to my original point: I need to put those thoughts of love and loneliness aside and focus on other things for now. I can’t put anymore of myself into fretting over whether or not I will die alone. If it happens, it happens. Until that day, I need to put my efforts into better myself and my position in life. Right now, I’m still pretty emotionally crippled. I’m also pretty fucking poor. I have a job and make enough to get by, but only barely. I’m tired of surviving. I want to start thriving. If I put this crap out of my mind and focus my efforts on my art, I think I can start doing that. Once I start thriving, then other things will fall into place and begin to happen.
It will never fully leave my mind though. It’s been too big a part of me for too long. I will always long for someone, but I can choose not to focus on it.
Fuck, this is all so scattered and broken. I don’t know if it makes any sense at all. I don’t think it matters though. This whole ‘fixing myself’ thing is being invented as I go. I’ll probably fuck it all up, but I have to try. I should see a therapist, really, but I can’t afford that. So, until I can, I wing it and hope for the best.
So, I lied. I think there is one more blog to write before my work week is over. This is a blog I have avoided. It involves the truth that I hide even from myself. It involves all that I have discussed before, but it goes far deeper than that. It cuts to the heart of my fears in starting a relationship. It took me a long time to accept it as truth, but I’ve yet to really be able to express it to anyone. It’s pitiful and pathetic. It paints me as exceedingly weak and it calls into question my mental health. It is the basis for why I question my own sanity and why I accept that insanity is not far away.
That may not even play a part in it. I’m sure I’m not the only one to have done it and I know that it was borne out of a fracture started long ago. If I hadn’t been broken down and berated by everyone around me, maybe it would not have happened, but it did and it scares me. I question all that I see in women because of this one folly. It was a major folly though and it is difficult to express…
Much of what I saw and loved in Anna and much of what we had together had no basis in reality. I invented much of it. She was real. We did spend time together. We had moments. But, really, we spent one week together every year at camp, and that was mostly it. I saw her a few times outside of that and we wrote each other letters some, but not much. We both professed feelings for each other, but I carried much of it. I didn’t really love the girl that she was. I loved the idyllic version of her that resided in my mind.
It all came crashing down that final day. Reality met dream and reality won out. It killed me.
What I’ve talked about before was true as well. She didn’t help it with her words, but how could she have? I didn’t know then that who I saw in my mind was not the girl that sat across that bench from me. Everything I’ve written about about how her words hurt me is true, I never really got past it and it was detrimental to me. Really though, it was just the final blow. It was the culmination of a lifetime of being beaten down by ever kid in school, watching my mother go in and out of the hospital, the dissolution of my parent’s marriage, and many other things. It was the death of my childhood.
When all that had come before it kept getting more and more difficult to deal with, I clung harder to the illusion that was the relationship. I needed something to believe in and hope for and I chose love, even if it was false. I’d lost my dignity and my confidence (and much, much more) to the bullying. I had lost my sense of family and love to the divorce. I was even losing my friends as we got older and I withdrew deeper. So, as I lost all I had I clung to the only thing I could see that had made me happy at any time in the recent past. And I’ve paid dearly for it.
Until recently, I hadn’t dealt with anything leading up to that day. It change everything I am, but I just sort of went along with it. A new version of me was born that day and he didn’t really want to live. He just did what he had to to survive and did not survive well. I couldn’t thrive. I ran away, moved to California for school and then Texas but never found much. Even when I cam home, I couldn’t find anything. Everything I was running from was finally catching up to me and one night after to much gin, I found a knife and tried to end it all. I couldn’t do it though. I had it on my wrist, pressing the point in, but I didn’t actually have the will to pierce the flesh. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. It was a move borne of desperation and a small part of me fought against it and kept me from doing it.
It was after that night that I went to my deepest and darkest places. I didn’t talk to any of my friends for about 6 months after that. Everything I ran from had finally consumed me and I retreated deep within myself, first to escape and then to deal with it. That was 3 years ago and I’m still trying to work it all out, though I am now doing so openly and talking with others about it. I have come a long way since that day but I still have a long way to go.
The experience I had of falling for someone that existed more in my mind than in the real world has tainted all encounters since. I second guess myself at every turn, wondering if what was said means what they said or if I have read more into it than was meant. If I did it once, it is not such a far stretch to think I would do it again. Because of that I couldn’t trust anything that was happening. Still don’t, really. I still tell myself I’m being an idiot every time something seems to be starting. Even my recent trip was tainted by it. She told me that people mean what they say and that we are no longer in high school, and she was right, but at the same time it is not the other person I am questioning, it is my own mind. I lost trust in myself and if I can’t trust myself, I’m royally fucked. And royally fucked I have been.
I still don’t really know how to move forward from this. I do not know what to change to find trust in myself again. The crux is, I am still not ready for a relationship but the only thing I can thing of to fix it is to go out and keep trying, even if I keep failing. Admitting to it and really, truly accepting it are a good start though. I’ll figure out the rest somehow. I have to. If I ever want to have a meaningful relationship, I’m going to have to get past this. I think that while I work on it, I need to just put any option of a relationship out of my mind for a time. That thought still hurts though. I’ve craved having someone in my life for a very long time. That may have been misplaced needs though. Not sure yet.
I feel like there is more to this, but I can’t find it yet. For now, I will leave you with a song. This song comes from an album I bought just two days after the last time I saw Anna, the day it all crashed down. The album spoke to me about what had happened. I have always clung to this song thinking of her. A part of me always knew just how apt it was, especially the final lament of ‘She isn’t real, I can’t make her real’. I never could see just how true the words were until much later. The song is Vermilion, pt. 2.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if she found my blog and saw that I was talking about her 8 years later. In truth, I while I have been cognizant of her in the last 8 years, I have not focused on her much for the last 5/6 years. It took me a couple years before her name left my lips, before I stopped seeing her when my eyes closed. Once I did, she faded to the back of my mind though. Her ghost was there, moving around other things, but she was no longer a huge force. Even now, I talk of her and how that day changed me, but she is not on my mind that much. It is the changes that happened that day that I think of, that I wrestle with and am trying to overcome. She just happens to be there.
This started in another entry, but I realized it deserved its own entry. Love is something I have always wanted. It touches everything in my life. It is what I crave and want. It means many things to me. It is simple and easy. It is also complicated and difficult at times. In truth, I have no direct knowledge of love outside of unrequited love. I’ve never had a woman love me, as far as I know. Love is something they talk about in books, songs, and movies. Those are what I know of love, sad as that may seem.
Let’s talk about the things I see and want. I see someone I can talk with. I see goofing off and being childish. I see hand holding and shy looks. I see her lying next to me, head on my chest with our arms around each other. I want to know what it’s like to have someone look at you and smile because they can’t help it. I want someone that enjoys the things I have done for years that have made me feel foolish. I want to do stupid little things that make us laugh. I want stolen kisses and foolish giggles. I feel foolish saying all of this. It seems too much to want. It also feels odd to say it out loud, like I’m not supposed to say it or even want it. I’ve never really expressed what I want from a woman out loud. I’ve internalized it much as I have everything else in my life. Why should I have voiced it? I’ve never found anyone that wanted to give me even the smallest parts of it. It’s really only the things I think of that hurt me the most as I so often expect to never get any of them. These are also the things I think of when I think of love and I’ve only experienced, maybe two of the things here.
I’ve never really had a woman in my life. I’ve never been on a date. The last woman I kissed sober was a decade ago and even the drunken ones were few and far between and number under 5. I’ve only had one girlfriend and, honestly? I can argue that down to being entirely one sided and possibly nullified. While I have spent several months at a time talking with a woman, I have spent less than a week in the presence of all of those women, combined. I can’t help but look on all of this and feel pathetic. I have experienced almost nothing.
But, now comes a question I’ve never had before… should all of that matter? Does that lack of experience really mean that much? It is only me that worries about it and hurts for it. Until I tell someone, they will not know any of this. And how do I get experience but by going out and doing? Am I once again just fretting over things needlessly? Wouldn’t surprise me, I’ve done it my whole life. I think I need to learn to let go of what has and has not happened in the past and just focus on what I have in my present and set up a few things for the future.
My mom brought up a good point the other day in relating the changes I am making to AA/NA. I’m rediscovering myself right now and shedding the things that have held me back and down for far too long. In a sense, it is kind of like kicking an addiction. I am having to relearn how to do things and how to live again. The point she made is, they ask you to wait a year before you get into a relationship because you are having to relearn all of this stuff. Maybe I should just put it out of my mind for now and focus on the other things I do have and work on those. That’s not to say I would deny something if it came about, but I have so much else I have to deal with, fretting over relationships is an added stress. Granted, it is one of the biggest things I have to deal with, but I’m not entirely ready for all of that. I’m still finding myself. I need to focus on getting myself right and growing those things that I do have.
With that said, I will try and heed it, but I also know that I will still always wonder about love and relationships until it finally happens for me. When it is something you’ve wanted since you were a teen and have always been denied it, you can’t help but wonder. It is just always there on some level and I can’t really turn it off. I just want the waiting to be done, but I know I still have much waiting ahead of me.
It’s odd. I used to be lost without the computer and the games I play. Now? I kind of want to get away from it. I’m on here and I can’t help but think of this past weekend. Most of the time, I’m fine, but there are times when it is all I can think off. It shouldn’t be so bad, but there is a sense of loss in the thinking. I haven’t heard from her since the day after I got back. I talked about what had happened, she said a few words, and that was it. She said things would change, but I didn’t really expect to not hear from her. So, I have to process it all and get the thoughts out of my head.
I feel like it should be done already. We weren’t dating. It wasn’t headed toward dating, and we were never going to be together romantically. In spite of that, I couldn’t help but feel. It’s a part of who I am. I enjoyed having someone I could talk to and share things with, even if I couldn’t truly share my heart the way I wanted to. There is a large void in me that seeks to have someone in my life and it reaches out for the wrong person sometimes. I try not to, but I can’t always help it.
I’m really not sure. Things are just off and I think it is me adjusting to my new reality. Kind of tired of this reality though. Always the friend. I want to know what it’s like to have someone beside me, pressed against me with my arm around them. As foolish as it was, talking to someone let me imagine that stuff in the context of a real person. Knowing I would see her let me hope that I might find it. Even though I was told it wouldn’t happen, I couldn’t help but wonder about it and getting there and seeing it couldn’t be hurt some.
6-ish hours later and I’m still not sure. It’ll just take time. It will take far less time now than it has in the past. Really though, it’s not that bad. It’s just a readjustment. It’s foolish. I knew better, but parts of me won’t let it be. I think that instead of repeating things, I should take this in a new direction. I don’t yet know what I want to write, I just know I want to write.
I’ve never felt all that comfortable doing anything with a woman. Even this past weekend, I asked permission to touch her because I assumed she didn’t want me to. It was torturous to be so close to her each day knowing I couldn’t reach over and touch her. The only time I got to touch her (and not just in a sexual manner) was once we went to bed. We shared a bed each night I was there and it took 4 days before we slept together. I tried to, but she kept denying it. Even when I had my fingers or tongue in her, she said no. She came every night and I had to wait 3 nights and even that took coaxing. I was going out of my mind. I wanted her more than I have ever wanted before and I kept having to wait. I did understand the waiting, but it didn’t make it easier. It was physically painful and I didn’t know what to do.
It’s difficult to approach a woman when most of the times you have you were met with derision or snide looks/remarks. Seeing the eyes move up and down you as her brow furrows and her upper lip crawls up in a derisive manner is not easy to handle. I didn’t see these things this past weekend, but I also didn’t see a lot of happy looks. At most, I saw mild interest. I mostly just felt like I was there. It seemed to me it wouldn’t have mattered if I were there or not.
I wanted to feel special. I never get to feel special. I feel replaceable most times, like anybody that will listen could have taken my place. That may not be the reality of it, but it’s how I’ve felt. I just want to see a woman look at me and see that look in her eyes that tells me she gives a fuck that it’s me and is happy that it is me. I want to know what it is like to be desired. Part of me still wonders if I will ever see that and if I do, how long it will be before I do.
If you’re alone long enough, it becomes an actual physical pain. At its worst, I could feel the ghosts of past contact falling across my nerves, tripping, teasing, playing. Trying to entice me to remember, but succeeding in naught but reminding me how long it had been. My body needed it, and the more I needed it, the further I withdrew from casual contact. I wouldn’t even hug friends. It was too much. It was like a strip club for your senses; everything was there but the final pay off, and the pay off is all that matters.
Even now, I can remember it. It was crushing. It was painful. It burned and I could not put it out. Truthfully, I don’t even remember the last time I made physical contact where I was neither a friend nor drunk. The few encounters I’ve had over the years have come well into a bottle and couldn’t progress far because of that. The pain is less now because of those few encounters and personal growth, but it is still there. Often times I’ll stay up simply because I loathe the emptiness of my own bed and that it reminds me I am alone and how much it hurts.
I don’t want to be alone anymore. I’m tired of writing about it and even more tired of living it. Though I’ve lived it my entire life, I don’t think I was really built for this. I’ve done well enough, I suppose, but I have always been very aware of how alone I was. It’s what keeps me up at night. It’s what I fear most. I still fear seeing 50 having never found someone that cares for me as more than a friend, let alone loves me. I used to think that story ended with a bullet. I don’t anymore, but it’s still a depressing thought. I don’t know how to handle the thought of being alone forever. I try to put it off as much as I can, but in the dark of night, I can’t avoid it.
In truth, I should be excited right now. I have big things looming in my immediate future. Unfortunately, the thoughts don’t always care. They choose when to appear and how to affect me. I just want to be done with loneliness. I’ll love the week I get, but I can still wish for more.
As I write this, I do feel like I’m just indulging myself and doing what I can to make it feel worse. I do still feel alone, and I do hope for the day I am no longer, but it does not hurt as much as it used to. Not by a long shot. If it did, I would probably still be locked in my room avoiding everyone. Just this past weekend, I was out and hanging out with people outside of my normal circle of friends. I still don’t have the courage to openly engage for the sake of moving things forward, but I was able to simply talk rather than sit there and look morose. Things are changing, but there is still the desire to revel in the pain sometimes. That’s not to say it isn’t there, it is, and it still has the potential to crush me, but the weight of it is lifting and doesn’t press as hard as it used to.
I’m very used to the pain. It’s all I knew for a very long time. I wish I could forget it, but I’m not there yet. Though, I think I have talked my way out of it for now.
At the end of the day, I just don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t really know what it’s like to be anything else though. I can be fine for the majority of the day, but once the sun goes down, everything gets quiet, and I’m left with my thoughts, I can’t help but remember that it’s just me. I see no end to this in the near future, so I’ll deal with it as I have for all these years. I can survive alone, I just don’t want to.
For now, I bide my time and work on my own shit in the hopes that there’s someone out there for me. I hope I’m ready for her when she finally comes around.
I can see that things are changing. I can see that things will be happening. I understand this, and am aware of it, but I am tired of waiting for it. How patient does someone have to be? I realize I’ve only really cared for a few short months, but that doesn’t change that I’ve waited for damn near a decade. Though I can see that it will happen, I have no idea if it will be tomorrow or 5 years from now.
How much patience is required? I’ll wait as long as I must, but the waiting is painful. Every day that goes on I feel my loneliness. It compounds. It consumes. It crushes. I have hope that it will leave me, but I cannot escape it. This is one thing I cannot face alone. Not even my friends can help it, not really. They can do much, but they cannot fill the void that craves to feel for another that feels for you. No matter how close you are with your friends, they cannot give you the intimacy that comes of a relationship.
I’m tired of… everything. The waiting. The doubting. The hating. The fear. The pain. Anger. Silence. Sadness. Heartache. Emptiness thinking wondering listlessnessunknowingunendingloneliness. All of it. I want to be truly happy. I don’t want to survive on these small blips of happiness; spread out just close enough for me to live but far enough away that I begin to forget that the others existed as I seek the next one.
Even now, I hope that it is close, but I have never felt further from it.
If it had been my choice, it would’ve been easier, but it wasn’t. I may not have been in the right place for it before, but I don’t understand why that precludes me from having anything. There are plenty of people out there not in the right place for it that seem to get it at will, so why can’t I? I know some people are better at certain things than others. I mean, matters of the mind are simplistic to me, much in the way matters of the heart are easy for others. Wasn’t a fair trade really, the intelligence instead of the whatever the hell it is some people seem to have with finding others. I doubt they even realize that there is more to intelligence than they know, but I am fully cognizant of what I am missing. I think on it every day. It keeps me awake at night. It eats at my soul.
There’s no real ending for this one. There can’t be. Not until I find what it is I seek. Until then, it will cling to everything that I am. I just have to fight it off and keep it from destroying me again, as it did in the past. I am staving it off better than before, but still it whispers to me, letting me know it’s still there.