Lonely is a Strong Word

Dearest readers,

I have been extra introspective (extraspective?) lately. I’ve gone astray in my own mind with the past, present, and future. It’s almost like the Christmas Carol ghosts are wandering about my mind, though they haven’t given me a good reason as to why (and it is not even Halloween yet, so the season is no excuse for them, either). In times such as these I’ve learned to do my best to drift through it all until my mind calms down, and, in the words of an inspiring, little blue fish, just keep swimming.

Last night specifically, one topic was on the main stage of my brain- the concept of being alone. For most of my life, I have always been alone to some degree. It took me ages to realize being surrounded by people was not enough to make a person, especially a chronically ill person, feel supported and loved. I can think of countless times when I was within a group of people, whether it be family, friends, or other, and yet felt completely empty and alone.

On reflection, it seems this was because more often than not I was around the wrong sort of people. Sometimes I was around people who were nice, though not on the same page as me, while other times I was around those who were physically and emotionally abusive. I was also with people who were honestly trying their best, but just couldn’t understand what I was going through because they had never experienced what I had, and didn’t quite know how to handle me. And so, I remained alone.

The past few years I have lost a lot of people in my life for various reasons, and it has been rough on my heart. It’s difficult thinking you are close to a person only to find out the relationship (whatever type of relationship it might be) was unhealthy and skewed. Slowly I am learning that being mistreated is not worth being able to say you have people around you, which is a useful less to learn, though going through the loss cycle multiple times  has made me feel a plethora of confusing emotions.  While logically I know I am healthier without abusive people in my life, it doesn’t hurt any less. Then there is also the fact that I have anxiety disorder and depression, both of which are talented in making me feel alienated and lonely in the worst possible ways.

All of these experiences have led me to note a defect in my own personality, where nowadays I seem naturally inclined to feeling completely isolated and like I’m doing this whole life thing solo. It’s easy to think that I have done everything by myself when now, I have no parents or family (save for my darling grandmother) to guide me, and even when I had them, they were far from helpful. However, this default can make me forget those that have worked to the best of their ability to ensure that I am not alone at all, and that just doesn’t seem fair.

My boyfriend and his family, for example, have done nothing but shower me with love since I’ve met them. Emotionally, they made me feel at home immediately, and later on gave me a physical home when I had nowhere else to go; were it not for his grandmother, I would have been one step closer to living in a homeless shelter, (though just last week another dear friend said she would have never let that happen to me, which only furthers my point).

There’s also the small pile of friends who jumped to help me move twice within six months (once in an ice storm) even though I didn’t have the money to pay them with beer or pizza, per the moving custom. There are my friends back home, like the one who has literally kept the same txting conversation going with me for a year, or another who for the past two years has always, always made the effort to call me when she can. Not to mention my Social Worker and her agency, who have brought me up from some of the darkest years of my life.

It’s true that I still do a great deal on my own, and I try to be independent as I can. But sometimes I need help, and in the most dire times, these people and the other great humans in my life haven’t let me down. At my worst, when it seemed like I was absolutely alone here in Missouri, I had several friends from back home that would always answer my calls when I was in self destruct mode, leaking heavy, painful tears.

Though numbers wise I have less people in my life now than I ever had before, I have never been less lonely, because the people I do have do so much to make me feel supported and loved. They try to help me find solutions when I am stuck, they actively listen to me when I am unwell and need comfort, and they consistently reassure me that despite how bleak my life may look, I’m never truly alone. I hope that the way I live and treat the people I care about constantly proves my gratitude.

I’m living proof that in the absolute worst of times, there is still another way, and good people to help us through them.