One is the loneliest number.

The problem with being lonely is that if you’ve let people inside in the past and then they’ve left you, they take something small yet significant from within you, with them. It gets to a point where you’d rather have nobody then risk having somebody leave.  Again.  So you furl up inside yourself, draw the curtains and lock the door to who you are.  So nobody can see you.  So nobody can get inside.  Problem is  eventually you lose the key and thus the person that you are.   Not even you can access yourself anymore and you begin to wonder if there was ever anything there.

I’m naturally intense.  Too intense.  I don’t want  acquaintances or to be grafted onto a group based purely on the fact I have a womb or kids at the same school.. I want something real. Deeper.  I want a friend.  A best friend.  Someone who likes me as much as I like  them.  Someone to laugh with and to cry with.  Someone to share life with.  Someone to get excited with.  Someone to confide in as others confide in me. Someone to share pizza with.  I don’t want to be a reserve. An extra.  A tagalong.

Can you imagine getting engaged?  Married? Pregnant? Without a none-Internet friend? Nobody to plan with, shop with, talk to?  I can.  Because I’ve done it.  I’m still doing it.  It sucks.

It’s like you feel invalidated in the world neither affecting not effecting.

So in person I may come across as aloof, reclusive and insular and I probably am yet only out of necessity.

I gave up trying. People who  allegedly liked me who I invested in with my self fucked off. I don’t even know why yet the holes they left still burn. I still miss them and I miss who I was when they were here. Then there’s the people I tried really hard with only to be shunned.  I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. What is it that’s so  intensely unlikeable?

Everybody needs somebody.  Everyone could use someone.

Sometimes I’m petrified that I’ll never know friendship again.  It’s been nearly a decade.  There’s so very little of me left to befriend and she becomes less every day.

Maybe I want too much.

I have a brilliant husband, three amazing kids with another on the way and I’m  excruciatingly lonely.

I realise this is an emo fest of the highest order. But hey, it’s my journal and I’ll whine if I want to.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s