This page has been open for months. Well, not literally. What I mean is that I’ve had this as a draft for nearly as long as I’ve had this blog. If I made it earlier, it would probably still be a draft.
I don’t know how to put words to my feelings. They all come out as fragments or merely words that hold no significance unless placed in context.
Unbelievably numb around people
I try so hard to give my head a rest. I no longer dwell in the past, but instead move forward with the idea of failure being an imminent part of my life. Not academically, but…romantically. It’s such a pathetic topic for me to even discuss, but when I’m not talking about it, it grows into a deeper wound in me that is no longer fresh, raw, but rather a scar that’s still infected. Nasty and probably doesn’t make sense, but that’s how I feel…I think. I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe one day I’ll figure it out. So today I guess I’ll try to word it as best as I can…because despite going away for the weekend to refresh myself, to rid myself of stress and anxiety…I’m back to where I started a few days ago. I feel full, like my chest cavity is overflowing, it’s overstuffed with feelings I can’t properly identify, so they simply stick around…build up…and hurt. Oh, what I would do not to feel any of it.
I ask myself the question: How can someone who hates being intimate with people-yes, romantically and such–feel so fucking lonely? And why? It’s what I want. I don’t want a relationship. No, I don’t want to get married. I don’t want children. I don’t even want to date. I don’t want anyone to touch me.
No, I don’t mean that I don’t like committing and I’m making it up that I’m some antisocial person.
No, I have friends and family and I love them so much. Some of them aren’t even within arms reach, but they mean the world to me.
I go out with friends and I do social things…sort of. But what I mean is that…I don’t know. I tried to go on a date with a guy I actually met online. Yeah, yeah, on one of those sites, but what I’m trying to get at is that it was fine. I talked a lot,but that’s just what I do when I’m nervous. I talk. A lot. And everything seemed fine, until I boarded the train home.
Then my body trembled
I had trouble breathing
I felt physically ill.
Every time he send me a message I felt like throwing up.
Then I started talking to someone else
Loneliness to me is often a physical pain–an entity even–that sucks the energy right out of me. That smears my smile away, and clenches my heart tightly, squeezed it till everything aches. It’s just…pain.
It comes and fades, but it never truly leaves.
This post may not make sense. Honestly, it may make me look a bit odd and indecisive, but when I write I find it therapeutic. Much better than talking to people, because here I can edit my thoughts and give them time to really…settle.
Sure it still sounds ridiculous, but hey–it’s out there.
Am I the only one struggling with this? Is something wrong that I can’t see? Sometimes it feels so pointless to bring it up to others, in fear that the hurting will be seen as pointless, pathetic….