Becoming, Lucy

Lonely.

Loneliness makes me believe I am not worth knowing, that my thoughts aren’t worth hearing, that I should stay quiet, that I shouldn’t rely on someone, that my silence is easier.

And I can’t write anything because I just have this block in my head that says no one – not even myself- wants to read about the same shit again.

I can’t even write for myself.

I am just very alone right now. I miss having that person I could share every random thought with. Someone I could excitedly tell about my new weekly interest with. Everyone seems to have someone. And even when they don’t, they find other ways to interact with people.

But how do I do that when I’m so introverted? I see people comment on strangers social posts and all I can think is, ‘wow, i wish i could share my thoughts.’

Every thought that crosses my mind… I don’t believe it is worth hearing, reading… No one wants that. No one cares. And maybe that’s what someone would say to make me feel better, that no one cares so just speak your mind. But I want someone to care. I want someone to speak to me. I want someone to ask me more, to converse back.

And I don’t know what the hell I’m trying to say or what the point of it all is.

I’ve had more breakdowns this week than I care to admit. I’m finding it all very fucking hard.

I just listen and listen and listen… I keep everything in.

I listen to friends, to family, to people I love. I say I hear them, I understand, that they’re not alone. Instead of turning round and reciprocating their openness, I keep mine in. I don’t want to burden them. And I don’t want to be rejected. Or made to feel small or whatever, so I make sure I’m not put into a situation where that could happen.

I don’t know the last time I felt heard. And that isn’t to blame anyone… But I just make sure I don’t share. I don’t know when I became the person who listens and doesn’t share. I avoid it all. I avoid the rejection. Because in my mind, I don’t care if it says more about them if they can’t hold space for me than it does about me. In my mind, the worst thing is the rejection.

I remember the last time I reached for recognition. I stopped myself just before I could become too much of a burden. I reached out, said I was struggling then not even a minute later, I was saying ‘yeah, I’ll be fine, thank you for listening.’ They didn’t really listen because I didn’t give them chance to, I just cried on the phone and then abruptly stopped before I could say anything else. I physically felt the recoil in my body. I felt the walls slam down.

Is it repetition or am I just living a wound everyday, every hour, minute, second? Maybe I’m just checking if anyone is listening yet.

Maybe that’s why I put this all online. To see if anyone is listening. A cry for help. Or rather, recognition. I hate how alone I am. I hate that I stop my thoughts before I can get them out. I don’t know what to say or to think.

Usually I can just write but it’s like my brain has decided I have a whole audience watching and not a single person is impressed. I try stop myself before I say something mean to myself, but it’s really hard. I try stop myself before I end up here, crying, alone, hurting but it’s getting harder, not easier. I wish it was easier.

I wish I was able to do this whole thing easily. No one really speaks honestly about the ugliness. They mention it, but they don’t talk about it. They don’t talk about how suffocating it is. How dark and gloomy it is. How it’s like a stormy summer day – the air thick, warm, suffocating, and the skies are dark and gloomy, a constant reminder of the heaviness. It’s a storm cloud you can’t shake.

But I don’t know how to shake it. I don’t know how to release the storm cloud. And I keep telling myself this isn’t a cry for help, that I do just want recognition, that I want to hear someone say ‘I see you. I understand’ but part of me fears that wouldn’t be enough. I’m not sure I know what recognition actually looks like. And the more I think about it, I wonder if it’s even recognition I crave but rather just someone intrigued enough to go ‘yep, same. Shall we talk about whether dragons were ever real now?’

But I can’t get that conversation until I actually allow someone to start seeing pieces of me. I don’t know what I’m protecting by staying quiet. Myself, yes. But what? Because staying quiet seems to just be hurting me more. I’ve silenced myself before anyone else can, simply because I don’t want to be rejected.

And I’m not sure I know how to speak about my pain anymore. I mean look above – how many ‘I don’t know’s’ are there? A lot. I’ve spent so long silencing myself that I don’t think I even know how to let myself be seen.