Lonely Night Blues
Jun. 18th, 2003 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormThis is always the night that gets me. The first night back is fine, I just crash and sleep pretty much. It's the second night back where I get to be really, truly alone, where there's an alone-night behind me and one in front of me. I feel bad, like a church bell struck once in silent darkness and the sound echoes on and on and on.
The shape of loneliness becomes clearer the more people you know. The more that I find that people can really have things in common with me, that they can really feel and think like me, the more I notice the clear distinction between myself and that huge mass which isn't like me.
It certainly isn't as sharp as it used to be. I used to wake up in the nights and be certain I'd die, spontaneously break or shatter just because there was no one else even remotely close to me in the cosmos. It isn't breaking anything now, I'm strong enough that I barely notice it in the sense that it doesn't change my functioning. That's even worse, in a way, because I have so much of what I want. I can't rail against the whole thing, I can't even, really, be unhappy about it. I don't really want a change in circumstance, just someone to hold me every night.
I don't have anything to give up in exchange for what I want. I don't have a way to get it, or a real idea of how I'd want my situation set up so that I got it. This isn't practicality, here, and it's not even a matter of a chain reaction of feelings. It's just that one, solid and reliable like kicking a tire: I'm lonely.
And what will I do? I'll go to bed with my book and I might cry a little. The SO will kiss me goodnight and leave until morning. Maybe someone will read this and call me (it happened, once) and maybe they won't. In the morning the SO will come home, there will be sunlight and I'll make chili and everything will be... the word isn't tolerable, but perhaps unruffled. Everything will be unruffled again. And a night or a couple more nights will pass, depending on this weekend's plans, and I'll be close to someone(s) who cares, and then it will be Tuesday night and I'll come home and fall dead asleep, and then it will be this night again.
Seeing myself in this pattern is an odd mix of comfort and... despair? This is what I have, overall. It's a good thing, overall. This part of it hurts me, but that happens.
And now sleep for me. Thank you, and good night.
The shape of loneliness becomes clearer the more people you know. The more that I find that people can really have things in common with me, that they can really feel and think like me, the more I notice the clear distinction between myself and that huge mass which isn't like me.
It certainly isn't as sharp as it used to be. I used to wake up in the nights and be certain I'd die, spontaneously break or shatter just because there was no one else even remotely close to me in the cosmos. It isn't breaking anything now, I'm strong enough that I barely notice it in the sense that it doesn't change my functioning. That's even worse, in a way, because I have so much of what I want. I can't rail against the whole thing, I can't even, really, be unhappy about it. I don't really want a change in circumstance, just someone to hold me every night.
I don't have anything to give up in exchange for what I want. I don't have a way to get it, or a real idea of how I'd want my situation set up so that I got it. This isn't practicality, here, and it's not even a matter of a chain reaction of feelings. It's just that one, solid and reliable like kicking a tire: I'm lonely.
And what will I do? I'll go to bed with my book and I might cry a little. The SO will kiss me goodnight and leave until morning. Maybe someone will read this and call me (it happened, once) and maybe they won't. In the morning the SO will come home, there will be sunlight and I'll make chili and everything will be... the word isn't tolerable, but perhaps unruffled. Everything will be unruffled again. And a night or a couple more nights will pass, depending on this weekend's plans, and I'll be close to someone(s) who cares, and then it will be Tuesday night and I'll come home and fall dead asleep, and then it will be this night again.
Seeing myself in this pattern is an odd mix of comfort and... despair? This is what I have, overall. It's a good thing, overall. This part of it hurts me, but that happens.
And now sleep for me. Thank you, and good night.
