The other day, I told my friend: “it’s funny how I complain about being lonely and yet, so much of the time I just really want to be left alone”.
That makes no sense. It’s a paradox. And I realised a while ago, a lot of things about me, about the way I deal with life are so very paradoxical.
For example, recently I’ve been feeling very bipolar. And I really want to cry. I need to cry. And ironically enough, I expect it to make me feel better. How is that, you ask? Well, crying is like an emotional release. Little by little, the sadness actually leaves your system, with every teardrop that slips away. But every time, I just get to the brink of being sad enough to cry, and then I tip back to the other end of the scale. You’d think that’s a good thing, to be rescued just before you slide of one end of the spectrum. But it’s not. Because crying is liberating, in my opinion. If I cry, I can just let it all out, let it all go. And then I’m empty. Blank. Nothingness is better having so much turmoil bottled up inside. And then eventually, it’ll get better. I’ll be happy again. So, as I often quote, “it has to get worse before it gets better”. Now, I often fear that something terrible might happen that would cause me to take back those words and to fear ever uttering them again. But so far, nothing so terrible has happened and they seem to hold quite true in the relatively mild situations that I’ve encountered.
Steering back to the focus of this anonymous plea, I’m lonely. And alone. I remember chancing upon a quote from I-can’t-remember-where, that basically conveyed the difference between solitude and loneliness. And I was always fairly confident that I could discern the difference between the two. But now, I’m not so sure. The two seem to be rapidly merging and converging. Thing is, I like being alone. But I think, I sometimes take it too far, and I end up feeling lonely. I’m not sure that makes sense, or that’s how it works. But that’s how it feels to me right now, anyway.
So, this sense of loneliness? Well, I feel like something- someone- is missing from my life. I feel lovelorn. There’s a lot of longing that burdens me at all given times. Love. That’s what I seek. I long to have someone to make me feel better. To understand me- yes, I’m aware of the clichéd adolescent angst that my words are probably reminiscent of. I thought I had cleverly escaped that. That I was already too wise and adult-like and so I was exempt of it. I suppose not, huh? I’m currently showing all the symptoms of the inescapable condition- the confusion, how lost I feel, the quest for a sense of purpose, the need for meaning, and so on and so forth. So yes, I’m a romantic and I’m a teenager. And I want to find someone. I feel like that would fix everything. Not that there’s that much fixing required, I live quite a good life, by far. And I’m grateful for the many things I have that are worth being grateful for. But alas, it does not suffice. So I wait and wait, with baited breath, for someone to come along, sweep me off my feet, sprinkle fairy dust all over my world and to just..be the difference that I seem to think I need in my life. The eternal cliché- the whole works of it. I suppose I understand why it’s a cliché. And as one can very clearly infer, I do think- I’d like very much to be cured of it.
So where are you, O person that liberates me? Who are you, that makes everything better, turns it all around, adds colour to the bleakness, yada yada yada?
I’m here. I’m ready and I’m waiting. And I’d say ‘I don’t know how much longer I can wait’, but that’s not exactly true now, is it? Because when we aren’t given an option, there’s not much else to do but wait, is there? And I know that the waiting can be endless. The waiting can be everything- with nothing beyond it. So I’ll keep waiting till I don’t. Or, God forbid, I’ll just keep on waiting. But I pray, in earnest and in fright, that the wait ends soon. And that it ends.
So until then, You-Who-I-Seek. See you soon?