
Yesterday (or technically today) I was walking home from a concert at 2am. I had a paper McDonalds bag in my arms and I held it so close and tight to my chest. It was just a cheeseburger and some nuggets but I held that bundle of deep fried poison like it was my firstborn child as I walked through the streets of my neighborhood. I was so tired and so sad because although the music had been good I had gone alone and all I could feel was how tired and lonely I was.
As I walked I was most aware of how my back ached, my heart hurt and how empty the bedroom I was returning to was. Being alone is one of the hardest things to come to terms with, I have found. It’s not that you can’t still enjoy yourself and feel happy, because you can. But there is a certain sensation of liberated sadness that follows you everywhere and gently constricts your heart and throat. The knowledge that there is no one who will care at the end of a particularly hard day, or to feel glad for you after a good one. This feeling will wear you down and numb you into a depression if you’re not careful to acknowledge it for what it is.
I just want to lay down somewhere soft and feel someone rub my back and tell me it’s okay. But that’s not a luxury I have in my life right now… so I have to settle for just lying down somewhere soft and holding myself until the sadness of passes. My psychologist tells me vulnerability is nothing to fear, but I wonder if she knows what it’s like to need something that isn’t there — that was never there. Does she know how it feels to have your vulnerability spat on by your loved ones so many times the concept itself becomes tainted? I bet she doesn’t.
