Sundays are a good day for confessions. I am not sure why, it just is known, to me anyways.
This is a big object of anxiety for me.
Living alone sometimes sucks the life out of me. I come to the lights off and to silent noise. Yes, silent noise. When the quiet just drives you crazy. It allows the thoughts to overwhelm sometimes. That was how it was today, when I got home from a sewing class I am taking.
I did not get home until after dark and all of the lights were out. Boots, the one good thing about coming home to a constantly empty of human interaction apartment, was meowing at my through the door. If it wasn’t for Boots, I might now come home at all.
I get lonely for human contact when I spend a lot of time home alone or out and about but alone all the same. Sometimes, I identify as a loner but I don’t like it. I feel like such a bother to people. I don’t want to ask sometime to meet me for coffee because I need someone to talk to face to face because I will be a bother. I never had that easiness that some people have to call a friend and say, “Hey want to get a drink?” or “Can you meet me for coffee, I really need to talk.”
I can email a friend to see if they want to get together for dinner a week or two down the road but actually calling someone sends a rush of anxiety through me. Will I bother them? They probably won’t want to talk to me. Why would they?
I am not talking about loneliness for a romantic companion. Yes, I really miss that and if I was lower the other day I might have jumped at the chance with Patrick only to be miserable and hating myself. I am talking about picking up the phone (not with family but with friends or acquaintances) and saying, “Hey, are you available to get a martini with me? Or a coffee or go for a walk?”
Why does writing an email about something 2 weeks in advance offer no resistance to me but to actually pick up that phone and call someone that has me running for the hills?