As usual, its almost
3 in the morning and despite how much work I have to do, I'm awake in front of my computer feeling empty.
I imagine that's hardly a new story, and I tend to wonder how many noders write to the gods of everything 2 in the early morning hours.
I don't know why I'm writing here. I have no desire for your fascist xp, and that's not necessarily just because of the tragically negative number I have at the moment.
I can't help but wonder why I should waste my time writing to this invisible audience, who I'm pretty sure couldn't give a damn about my life.
But let's face it, I don't have anyone to write to anymore.
Once in middle school a sign up sheet was passed around for a group that met with the guidance counselor weekly. It came with this commercial they would announce over the loud speaker that resembled an "are you injured? do you need an attorney?" ad more than anything else. It was for students who felt alienated and alone, with the "have trouble making friends? need someone to talk to?" byline. In the process of making fun of it in front of the friends I did indeed have at the time, I managed to sign myself up as a joke. Before I could erase my name, the teacher took the sheet, and I was enrolled in a weekly meeting with a group of lonely kids and my lonely guidance counselor.
I didn't mind it much because it got me out of class and it was sort of interesting to watch the other kids respond to such benal questions as "where's your favorite place?" One girl answered that she enjoyed the local prison, because that was where she could see her father. After hearing this I felt like, to quote our dear vice president, "a major league asshole" for having joked about the program. I don't remember my answer to that particular question but I do remember the guidance counselor asking us whether any of us had ever found ourselves without any friends. As raising one's hand to such a question was middle school suicide, no matter how aptly named the program, no one volunteered themselves for scrutiny, however there was an uneasy look about the members of my group.
The guidance counselor went on to say that at at least one point in our lives we'll find ourselves without any friends, and that this was an accepted statistic.
The truth was, no matter how out of place I felt within this group, I knew I had spent most of my childhood praying for friends...more specifically, a best friend.
I'd dream of a new girl moving into the neighborhood and becoming my best friend. I don't think I've ever prayed for something more in my life, and honestly the fact that I prayed at all is a little hard to believe now.
I was always a quiet little girl, perhaps a little too quiet. I kept to myself for fear of being impolite or of looking stupid. Growing up as an only child with only adults as companions makes you all the more aware of how often children will be humored no matter how stupid their comments. I had no intention of being humored for my stupid comments, so I tried not to make any comments at all. A commentless child is not often likely to strike up the conversation that wins a million hearts, and as a result I was often friend-less. That is not to say that I didn't have any friends, but they were few and far between and I often found that the moment I became close with another girl my age she would move away. Within two years I had watched five best friends move away.
I spent my recess break volunteering in the library everyday. I loved the librarian, and I'm ashamed to say that I may have loved the hershey's hugs and kisses I would get for volunteering more than I loved the other children.
As I grew up I seemed to find that my need to have a voice could not contain itself any longer, and my worship for the loud and shameless resulted in a vomit-like expulsion of my inner thoughts to the world. I'm not the silent introverted little girl I used to be, more like the opposite really, and I have many friends. But I have learned to cope well with letting go of people, perhaps a little too well. After years of losing every best friend I had ever had, no matter how hard I prayed as a child, I became too accustomed to saying goodbye, never looking back, and being reliant only on myself.
I am the socialite with the million best friends who never really lets anyone in. At least I thought I was.
Before going to college I met a very sweet boy who oddly enough always made it feel good to be living life. It wasn't that he had the personality of a motivational speaker or that he was the epitome of every missing part of my life. It was just that as much as he was a stranger to me, he made me feel completely comfortable. For the first time I felt like letting someone in, like expanding my world to fit more than just me. I thought we were the same really. I thought I could see the same quiet introvert in him that I pretended I wasn't. I thought maybe we could be introverts together, and for a time, maybe we were. The word "love" ended up being mentioned more than a few times, however, after over a year of being the only person he ever let into his world, and him being the only person I ever let into mine, I am more than aware that there are still an infinite number of things neither of us know about each other.
Very recently, it has come to my attention that he may prefer it that way, whereas I saw us spending years discovering each other. I'm not mentioned in any of his everything 2 nodes, which was a bit pettily shocking, but I honestly don't feel like I belong in any of them. I know I'm not a part of his life he shares with other people, but I'll never know why.
Tonight I went to a concert to try and forget the new hole in my life. Throughout so much of my life music has made up for every inconsistancy and every insecurity. Music has always been there when people aren't and seeing a band play live has always been the greatest thrill I've ever felt.
But tonight, despite the fact that I was watching one of my favorite bands play in a small venue, as though it were just for me, it all felt empty. I can't seem to rid myself of the habit of wanting to share every happiness I experience with that sweet private boy who has cut me out of his life. The rhythm of the bass, the unceasing beat of the drum, the unparalleled complexity and insanity of the guitar solos, and the rush of the synthesizers I'd blissfully drown in before, suddenly felt like nothing. I found myself standing completely still amongst a crowd that couldn't help but jirate and spin and dance. It was as though I were fighting off the purest happiness that could be offered, if not, at very least, a few drunk men that would take my hand to join their mad dance. But I didn't want a body to jirate with, I wanted warm arms around my waist and a chin on my shoulder. I wanted peace of mind, security, and psychic company.
I'm at a point in my life which is far removed from the loneliness of my childhood, and as I've been reminded countless times, I have many friends to fill the void and distract me from the pain. But I know I sit here at 4 in the morning typing to a community of overly critical strangers, who will inevitably send my writing into obscurity, for some real reason.
I am alone again, and for the first time in a very long time, I mind it very much, and I find that I have only the open hole, where loneliness never existed before, into which I can escape.