Lonely

I used to think it meant you were weak to admit when you're lonely. Maybe I still think it, but I'm admitting it anyway. I am weak. I am one strand. A good strong rope needs two or three strands, maybe more. I can do things on my own, but I'd like to not be alone for once.

I'd like a hug.

I'd like someone to notice or care when I'm gone.

I'd like someone who wants to share their life with me, and would like me to share mine with them.

I'd like someone who would fight for me, even if sometimes the thing they're fighting is me. Does that make sense? Like, I put up walls and barriers. I'm not just the princess in this fairy tale; I'm also the forest of briars and the big scary dragon, and it would be nice if someone realized I was in there and even after seeing the obstacles went to the trouble to go through all the defenses I put up anyway. I'd like someone to maybe think I was worth the trouble.

Part of this is me just being emotional because I'm on my period. (Sorry if that's TMI, but this is my blog, so I'm going to say whatever the hell I want.) Part of this is because I just saw on facebook that a former acquaintance of mine, a childhood friend, has just gotten engaged. Part of this was waking up and realizing that I can count my close friends on one hand, and that a good half of those friends don't really care about me; I'm just a diversion, a something-to-do to pencil in on the calendar, a sounding board for ideas, opinions, and complaints, a yes man to provide validation.

I feel very lonely. I feel very alone. I really, really want a hug.

Does that sound needy? I don't really care. I don't even care about romance, not really. I just want a friend, a real friend. I just want to know that there are nice, genuine, caring people out there in the world, that not everybody is a selfish asshole.

But that's a lot to ask. I mean, I'm a selfish asshole. Maybe we're all selfish assholes and just terrible, small people. Broken and twisted and strange.

As I'm writing this the sun is shining through the leaves on the branches outside my window, and it's this beautiful gold filtering through the green, and it's the kind of light I remember from my childhood. It's the kind of light I associate with wonder and adventure, with innocence and endless possibility. And it is so very strange to see that light and to feel what I am feeling now. It's like, those two things can't possibly exist together. They are as far apart as the east is from the west. This despair, and that golden, aching, brilliant sort of promise.

It's not a hug, and it's not a friend, and it's not someone who cares. But I've stopped crying, so that's something.