It seems it’s just you and me again. It’s a wonder how we only get to talk whenever I have so much going on my head and have so much to do.
Not a lot’s changed since we last talked. I still am growing that beard. I still am trying to avoid contact with most people. I still am “trying to find myself” in times alone. And I still think it’s doing nothing to make my life any better.
But I recently realized that I have no choice, Void. For a brief time in spite of this self-imposed exile, I have tried to reconnect with old friends, and rekindle old ties. All this, however, to no avail. It seems as if they have moved on properly with their lives without me, which is fine and only fair. I am not so deluded that I would think the universe revolves around me and I should be embittered that everybody else is doing just fine without my presence.
It feels, though, that in my times alone I have lost all ability to properly relate with other people. It has been so long since I have had a conversation which moved beyond small talk. I used to be so lively and interesting. I used to have a lot to say about a lot of things. What happened?
I feel detached from everyone else. I feel as if there’s this invisible barrier of I don’t know what keeping me from enjoying where I am at present. I am like a superimposed picture, poorly photoshopped on to the landscape. I do not know how to respond to emotions I can’t tell apart. I do not know how to initiate meaningful exchanges with people I know to have a lot to say. I perceive the beauty and fire that it is in the people I meet, but somehow it pains me that I am so far away from its truth and warmth.
Don’t ask me when it started. I do not know. But somehow it reached its peak when I was confined in the hospital. The forgivable and tolerable state of loneliness was made worse by the grim possibility of my life ending there. I certainly would not die alone and unloved, but then I feared that I would die ignorant of what was wrong with me in my last days, that I can’t properly reciprocate emotions that come my way, that I keep searching for intimacy in the wrong places, and that sometimes I find it more bearable being alone.
I want so much to have someone to share my thoughts with. But that’s exactly the problem. I don’t know how to share anything. I ‘m so afraid for my thoughts emotions to be rendered irrelevant and conceited and self-righteous, though I know they are sometimes. I’m scared of being shoved aside as unimportant. I’m terrified of the prospect that no one might understand, as I am terrified of the idea that I can’t express myself well enough to be understood.
Which brings me to you, Void. You are the only one I can get myself to talk to right now. I’m afraid of everyone else. I don’t want to be lonely anymore. But loneliness, at least for now, feels safe.
Hold me, Void. I want so much to feel something else. Anything else.