I’ve been pondering loneliness quite a bit lately.
And I’ve come to some odd conclusions. While it can be unbearable and make me want to rip my head off, it can also be quite a comforting thing.
Strange dichotomy, you might think. But I’m comfortable with being lonely, I know that place well and I don’t have to make any effort to be someone else; to make conversation with people who find me trying. I can just be.
I can stay in bed until noon, reading or thinking or watching TV. I can go to bed at night knowing I don’t have to worry about snoring. I can look down at my fat body and not feel the pressure of someone else looking at it and finding it abhorrent. I don’t have to worry about whether I can manage to have sex or not, whether I’m a freak, all those hideous thoughts don’t have to enter my mind.
Yes, maybe lonely is good. Because the alternative is fear. Fear of rejection again, fear that I’m just not normal.
OK, the long silences are pretty shitty. It would be fantastic to be able to share experiences with someone else – everything from an exciting trip to the other side of the world to a simple walk around the local woods – all of those things stay inside my head, never to be discussed and shared. And a cuddle would be so nice. I have had days where I’ve just obsessed over the thought of what a cuddle would feel like; the real sensation is fading so fast. It’s almost five years since my last cuddle, with anyone. No physical contact with another living soul.
Loneliness is bitter sweet. Some days I really do want to rip my skin from my body just so I can feel something; pain is better than nothing at all. Other days, nothing is good. I don’t have to disappoint anyone.
Barbara Murray Art 