I am trying to navigate the incredible pain of my loneliness.
I have to understand that there was nothing I could do—no one was going to understand my strange love for them, nor my strange desire to be around them. Not when it seemed they were always hurting me, always rejecting me, antagonizing, neglecting, and destroying me.
None will understand the smallest of things and looks, nor that without the sharpness, harshness, or conflict, it would have none of it been worth the time. Dare not tell me I “just didn’t want to be bored.” Dare not tell me, “It will pass in time.” Don’t insult them, don’t touch them, don’t even say their names to me. I don’t want to hear you sigh with relief, now they are gone. I don’t want you to think, Finally I have her alone. Don’t think I have more time now they are gone.
For what time they have left completely open, I will compensate with long hours of work, with a restless desire to consume knowledge and become better. I will exercise, I will read, I will write, I will learn. I will get three hours of sleep every night to do so, if need be. I will do anything in my power to occupy my mind and dull the throbbing pain in my head and in my soul.
Don’t you dare think now you will have more influence over me. Don’t you dare think now I will be more wholly under your thumb, that suddenly they will no longer be pulling me in their direction, so I will thusly slingshot in yours.
I’m terrified to sleep, and I’m terrified not to sleep.
I’m terrified to sleep because then the terror and the sadness and the loneliness will swoop in when my mind is unoccupied and defenseless. They will crawl in through the orange light, seemingly harmlessly alighting through the windows. They will emerge from the notes of a song, from the words of a ballad. And when I am almost asleep, lured to the edges of my subconscious by the forced retelling of an old tale, or perhaps by the hypothetical of what might someday be, they will force themselves down my throat and up through my nose, where they will drown me in their contempt and their rage. And I will die slowly, a little more each night, as they fill up my lungs and keep me from breathing.
But I’m terrified not to sleep. I’m terrified what my sleepy brain will do when I drift away in class, terrified that something will set me off and suddenly I’ll be panicking—where are they? Where have they gone? Where is my light? Where is my music? And I’ll be standing there, exposed: Here I am, I’m human! I am very much alive, for I suffer, you see. I suffer more than any of you ever will.
I remember the things I’ve said of them.
I wear your contusions like bows.
You are the essence of genius. You’re creative with your knowledge—and that makes you a genius.
Oh my beloved ones:
Neither of you is held higher than the other, you see. Sure, I go through periods of great frustration, where the other is much easier to talk to, the other will more easily sympathize with my plight. But in the end, you are equals in my eyes. Yes, true, the loves operate on different planes of existence, their essences essentially different, because you are both different, and you both fulfill different positions in my life.
But I will hold you both equally forever. Will be there for either of you, will hold you in my arms and sway you back and forth like a keel on the tide. I will be there to whisper, “I’m here. I will always be here. I love you.” And even if you turn and spit in my face, I will stand there and accept it because that is what is required of me, because you two need it more than anyone else in the world. It’s unconditional, I promise you. No matter how many times you slap me, I will let you ice the bruises.
And maybe some day you, too, will feel this unconditional desire to love, this unconditional desire to aid, whether you receive anything in return or not. Maybe some day you, too, will see the loveliness in another human being—such as myself—and that loveliness will flower into compassion in you, and you will lay down your life to make such a love matter.
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