Updated: Mar 9
Solitude vs. Loneliness
Friday, December 2nd, 2022
I've been thinking a great deal recently about my solitude. I enjoy nearly every moment of it, there's no lie in that, but some days are better than others. While I believe one can choose between comfort in solitude or misery in loneliness, I think it would be nice to have someone around, if only to understand them and enjoy their company—to listen to them and savor their presence.
I've had dreams lately of lying in bed next to someone, holding them close, and simply talking with them. Interestingly enough, none of them alluded to anything sexual. I of all people would think my imagination might steer in that direction, but no, it was only wholehearted connection.
In all honesty, that infuriates me. I wish it had been about something as understandable as sex because then it might make sense. Then, it would not require reason! But to dream about love and closeness? How pathetic and confusing.
By God, I toil with when this miserable notion of love will escape me. Perhaps I ought to ask Him to rid me of it than to allow me to find it. Perhaps then, it would no longer torment me.
The dream itself was likely the only depiction of love I could possibly conjure, and a false one at that. Even now as I write this and remember that dream, tears well in my eyes and I wish to go back to it. I wish I could stay there and never wake from it. Never have to remember the weight of real existence. Never have to fantasize about conforming to normalcy. Never have to be imprisoned back in my fortress of solitude with its walls of seclusion and its shackles of reality.
Against my damnedest will, I remember waking from that dream and the sheer sorrow that followed as I realized none of it was true. I doubt I'll ever be able to forget that disheartening sting as my false world slowly dissolved away from me. There are many nights I'll still wish to have the same dream again, just to feel that whole one last time—that complete. That warm and ... loved.
But maybe I understand better than most that only I can fulfill myself in my totality. I know I do not need a single person on this earth other than myself, although I would like to—although I know many people in my life are of profound importance to me, exceptionally more so than words have the ability to describe.
That doesn't make the decision any easier every day, though, (despite that it should); the decision between solitude and loneliness, worsened by the thought that some others do not seem to share the same struggles as I. Comparison is the thief of joy, and that I must remember. But the worst of it all is recalling the times when I've rejected connection from those whom I did not deem worthy enough of it by my own ridiculous standards or when I did not conquer my own fear of attachment. Ignorance is bliss, and that I must consider.
I had prayed to God many times about my readiness to attempt to love someone. Perhaps only to experience what it was like if it truly existed, but my prayers weren't answered. Unless, of course, the answers translated as I'm not ready, which is how I interpreted them. That would make sense, after all. I have an awful lot going on like setting the stage for my entire life. Writing, for one. Curriculum, for another. Family above all. However, that doesn't make me stop wondering if love exists.
Neither does it help the argument that it does.
Oddly enough, it reminds me of Jade, of all people. I can only assume that's because she's the most recent person with whom I had developed some sort of connection (as bare boned as it was). What a shame that is, too, because I simply light up when I see her, and it feels nothing less than breathtaking. Yet, I know those feelings will never amount to anything; just as I know these feeble words or these useless tears won't change any of that. But damn it all, what a torture it is to know those sentiments aren't reciprocated nor will ever be.
I place so much significance on the company of other people, when, at the end of the day, they're simply that. Just people. Nothing more and nothing less. I struggle deciding between how spectacular they are and how inessential they are.
Dear God, rid me of my reckless wonder about love and make me whole in my pillar of solitude. It's difficult to believe that'll be the only thing that consoles me in death, but perhaps then I will understand. Amen.