I’ve decided to finally talk about it.
I want to talk about being alone.
A lot of times, mostly because it’s what I tell everyone who asks me for advice, I pretend like I’m alright. I pretend like I can live with all these casual encounters - all these times when I’ve had too much to drink and someone happens to have a car or a condo or just a hot body, all these times when I’m talking to 15 different people at the same time and skillfully never misdirect a text message.
There are beautiful moments when I’m on a bus looking at the sunset, or a young Italian man walks into my subway car and plays the most amazing song on his accordion, that I find myself stunned by the fact that I’m here alone, with no one to share this with.
The truth is, I’m very lonely. I’m so very lonely.
Is it so much to ask that when I ask “Hey, how are you doing?” the reply be a little more than “Nothing much. Kind of horny,”? It’s laughable. It’s laughable because it’s so sad.
It’s sad because at the same time, I don’t know how else to survive. Every time I try to do something else, try to take it slow, try to keep it clean, there’s a darkness in me that whispers “Forget about it,” and I bring out the drugs or the booze or the condoms and whatnot.
I don’t know how I got here. Or perhaps I do know. Perhaps I’ve always known what I was doing, but constantly chosen to pretend like it doesn’t matter what the consequences are. Perhaps I’ve constantly chosen to forget that no matter who I wake up to in the morning, whether it’s a person or a pillow, whether or not I’m already sober, I am alone.
I just want someone to hold my hand and mean it. I just want to hold someone in my arms and feel warm on the inside, too.
I just want someone else, for once, to tell me “Hey, you’re okay. You don’t have to try so hard. And when you feel like you’re not, then let’s see what we can do to fix that.”
I’ve decided to finally talk about it.
I want to talk about not being alone anymore.
(via awarewolves)
