I guess it’s just the most alone I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I’ve wrote about this before. I know.
But it’s still here. So I’ll write about it.
Even when I was on the other side of the world with a handlful of friends that I rarely saw and a husband and a child, I was less lonely. Why?
Not because of the relationship I had, but because I knew I had good friendships elsewhere. That’s what kept me on my feet.
Now I’m here and I have six feet more to my length, of lonliness.
I’m depriving myself, soaking myself in the lack of desire and trying to convince myself that I’m okay with it. That I should be. That I deserve this lack of contact. That I deserve to feel alone. 26 years is a long time to not feel alone. So it’s about time.
Since it’s my first time, you can bet I’m sucking at handling it. Rejection really flippin is a terrible terrible thing. I’ve been spoiled!
And even though I know what to do with myself, I almost kind of don’t. I just feel lost.
I can contact men from the past and let that be an easy fix. Let the attention wrap around me. But I’m trying to change, remember? I refuse to do it the easy way.
So I suppose until I’m out of this space, I’ll complain, vent, roam in lonely and let it do whatever it’s supposed to do to me. I’m not over it. I’m under it and it’s weighing me down.
When I have the muscle power to break free of it, I’ll let you know.