I've never quite been able to express the kind of loneliness that sometimes grips me, and I recently stumbled on these words by Anne Sage on her blog "The City Sage." She says:
"I've alway struggled with loneliness. I don't mean a 'call up a few friends to chase the blues away' loneliness. I mean a profound sense of isolation that confines me to my bed; that wracks me with sobs sent from the pit of my gut to consume me from the inside out; that finds me in a crowded room deaf to everything but my echoing thoughts. It's a self-absorbed, self-induced, self-perpetuated sort of loneliness—because the heavier it grows, the harder it gets for me to push it off and do something about it.
"The thing is, I'm tired of trying to do something about it. Tired of showing up at therapy. Tired of risking the whim of fairweather friends. And man alive, am I tired of reading the books. The ones that suggest I never learned to express my emotions or set boundaries in order to feel heard. The ones that claim we are all essentially alone and the sooner we accept that the sooner we'll find peace. The ones that tell me to stay in the now, practice gratitude, feel my feelings. I'm tired of circling endlessly in my own head.
"One book, however, has pushed me out of my head and onto paper—a small distance, granted, but a step forward nonetheless. Writing Down Your Soul teaches an approach to journaling that draws out the frightening, audacious things you've been keeping even from yourself. It forces you to ask difficult questions such as 'What am I hiding?' and 'What do I truly want?' It leaves you staring at a page on which you've just written the words, 'I want someone to love me enough to come find me, no matter how hard I hide.'"
Do you ever feel like this? I know I have many people that I have deep, meaningful relationships with, I know I am not going at this alone, and even still I get gripped with this yucky, heavy feeling sometimes. What do you think?
[Pictures from The City Sage].