Tag Archives: Loneliness

Solitude or Loneliness?

10 Wednesday Jul 2019

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It’s been a while since I posted here. I’ve been so busy doing this and that I guess I forgot.

The last few weeks I’ve been thinking it might be nice to have a dog for company. I’ve been living alone, for the first time in my life, since I bought an apartment in late March. Sometimes the solitude is glorious; I don’t need to worry about bothering anyone when I get home late(ish), or worry about being woken up early by someone going to work. I can make as much mess as I want (I don’t because I’m a bit OCD, but that’s not the point). I can wander around in any state of dress without worrying about shocking my housemates. But other times, when I’m sitting on the couch watching some dross on my computer, or after having scrolled endlessly through social media feeds, or more often while doing both of these at once, I feel lonely.

I can’t just get up and talk to someone. I have to put effort into arranging catch-ups, or leaving the house to make new friends. It feels like hard work, and it feels like I’m always the one making approaches to see people.

I’ve noticed a couple of articles recently on what might be called a ‘loneliness epidemic’. I’ve been feeling loneliness on and off for quite a long time, probably since I was a child. I guess part of me struggles to really connect with people, and I worry a lot that people have forgotten about me; I think that’s genetic, my Nan seems to be the same. But part of me thinks that the illusion of connection that we have through social media actually makes us less connected.

I’m trying a few different things to counteract the feelings of being isolated that come up occasionally. I’ve found a good little cafe locally where I can sit and read a book, or do a bit of writing, the people working there seem friendly but I don’t know if they recognise me yet.

I thought I might adopt a greyhound, there are so many who come out of the racing industry and need to be re-homed. I was lucky enough to be offered the chance to foster a female brindle for a week as a trial, and unfortunately I didn’t even make it through the week. She was not like any pet I’ve ever met; not surprising as she doesn’t really know how to ‘pet’, but she was defiant, and hard to handle, and I didn’t feel like we bonded. In the end I asked if there was another foster carer who could take her off my hands. It was disappointing for a number of reasons, not least because it wasn’t really the dog’s fault we didn’t get on. I was also surprised by how traumatic I found it looking after a creature who was so dependent on me with whom I didn’t share a bond of affection.

I was reminded how hard it must be for people suffering post-partum depression; imagine giving birth to something that you didn’t feel connected to. It made me feel terrible to look at this dog and really resent having to fulfil her needs; toileting, feeding, exercising, and entertaining her.

I find it quite hard to admit when I can’t do something, particularly something that was supposed to be really fun like getting a dog. I’m not looking to try it again any time soon, I’m not sure that I’d be able to do it even with a dog I really loved as a person living alone. Perhaps I’ll get a fish, a colleague recommended a budgie, but I’m not keen on birds.

A lot of my time spent alone is blissful solitude, but I need to make sure I’m having contact with other people. Cultivating relationships will be important for the next year or so to ensure that I have enough good, strong relationships to keep me feeling connected. And I know I should spend less time on social media – because it really doesn’t help, but one thing at a time.

What if?

28 Saturday Jun 2014

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Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

 

I identify as a feminist. Usually I’m completely happy with this, but sometimes, I find myself wanting things that are decidedly unfeministy. Like a boyfriend and a baby and a house in the suburbs. I’ll turn 30 later this year. It keeps feeling like this should be a big deal, like I should have sorted my shit out by now, but it is pretty clear to me that I really, really haven’t got anything sorted out.

I’ve just left a perfectly good, if soul-crushing, permanent part time job for nothing. I haven’t really got another job to go into. I plan to study full-time next semester, but without Centrelink/welfare payments I’ll have to get a job of some sort to survive. I have been in a romantic relationship for a total of four weeks out of the last (nearly) three years. I’m generally not doing well in the ‘being a grown-up department’.

The difficulty for me with these conflicting desires is that I know, intellectually, that I’m capable of being happy without a husband, baby, house and white picket fence. I also know, intellectually, that having these things does not guarantee happiness, and that many people would look at my free, arty farty lifestyle with envy, but I still want them. I guess there’s that part of me, having grown up with all of those expectations of normality, that wants to fit in.

I always saw myself as a parent, a mother, and the idea that it might not be a reality for me is kind of hard to fathom. I’m not so invested in the idea for a baby that I would have one alone, I don’t mean any disrespect to single mothers/parents, but it seems like a lot of hard work, and I’m not up for that.

On the other hand women who don’t have kids are supposed to be focussed on their careers. In a lot of ways I am focussed on my career, my aims to be a writer, but that’s not usually what people mean by career. I don’t want to climb the corporate ladder. I don’t want to work really hard so I have lots of cash and no time. I often feel like a massive failure on lots of different societal measures of success, although I seem to be pretty good at academic pursuits which is supposed to be desirable, but usually only on the way to career or babies.

So how do I make peace with myself, with my path, if I won’t achieve ‘success’? Even if I don’t want to. How do I tell the part of my brain that wants money, husbands, babies and houses to be quiet so the other part, the part my heart knows is right for me, can guide me? And what if my chosen path is never ‘successful’? I might get a few things published here and there, but I might never be a full time writer. Maybe I’ll be working in admin a few days a week and churning out writing that no one will pay for and hardly anyone will read when I’m 75. I really want to be ok with this. I will always have ambition, and that’s great, but I want to be able to be happy without those things.

What if I’m a bad feminist because I want those things? What if I can’t achieve the things I want? What if the things I want aren’t socially acceptable? What if I’m a failure as a human being? What if I want things that won’t make me happy?What if… What if…

But what if I just stop worrying and start living? How about I try that and see how I go from there.

Fear

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

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I’m standing on a windswept cliff top, everything below is whipped into a rage by the winds, the sea throwing itself against the rocks. I’m cold, wearing only the jogging clothes I came up in, damp with sweat. Slowly I turn back to the thing that frightened me, your face, crushed by the conversation we’re trying to have.

“You can’t break up with me. You said you loved me.”

I take a step towards you, my hand outstretched,then let it fall as I release the breath I had been holding.

“I do love you, I will always love you. But I can’t do this.”

You’re crying, I watch the trails that the tears make down your cheeks.

“You know it’s for the best, in the long run. I’m holding you back, you know I am. You’ll never do what you need to do while we’re together.”

“I can’t do it without you,” you protest.

“You can. You have to. I can’t hold your hand anymore. It’s not fair on me, and it’s not fair on you.”

I kneel beside you in the sandy grass, taking your hand in mine.

“It’s ok. Really. Trust yourself. Take the job, go to New York, make a new life for yourself. I can’t leave, but I don’t want to stop you from achieving your dream.”

You look so small, bewildered that I can’t follow you, but there’s a steely resolve in your eyes.

“Everything we have had was beautiful. I will always cherish it,” you say with a sigh.

You turn away, getting up to leave.

“I always hoped you would be able to conquer your fear and come with me. I hoped my love would be enough, but I see now it’s not. I’m sorry.”

You’re still holding my hand, but you drop it as you walk away.

“I’m sorry.”

I know. I’m sorry too.

A Human Character

10 Tuesday Jun 2014

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Today, you’ll write about a person you’ve met in 2014. In your twist, develop and shape your portrait further in a character study.

 

The thing about meeting new people is that they either make no impression at all or they have a lasting impact on how you see yourself, live your life or how you feel. It seems to me that there is almost no in between.

I think a lot about the idea of coupling off and whether or not it’s something that I do, or should, aspire to. I try to think of myself as being a perfectly capable, whole, human being without needing a boyfriend to feel complete, but it’s hard to maintain that feeling when so much of our lives is spend engaging in the happily ever after fantasy. And that’s not even going into the part where a woman’s most valuable, fundamental role is as a mum.

In my attempts to find happiness as an individual, I go on a lot of dates. That sounds like it’s a completely contradictory statement, and perhaps it is, but I guess I’m looking for someone to share my life with, rather than someone who completes me, and I think that works. Most of the time the dating thing doesn’t go very well. I meet a lot of people who don’t make an impression.

Occasionally there are exceptions. Around Easter I actually managed to meet a man who I was interested to have a relationship with. I would consider it an important event in my life because I hadn’t been in a relationship for more than two years before that, since before I started this blog. It didn’t last, unfortunately, but it did give me confidence that there are people in the world who find me attractive and interesting. It’s something that I need reminding of every now and then.

So how would I describe him? I suppose the first word that comes to mind is small. I don’t mean short, he would be about the same height I am, about 175cm, but he was quite slight in build. He’s really into cycling so if you think about the cyclist physique that should give you a good starting point – small arms, thin chest, and wiry but muscular legs.

He had very fair skin, being of a ginger sort of complexion, and a completely bald head. Some men are blessed with thick, luscious hair, and others suffer from the severely receding hairline. For this particular man, his hair had decided to leave the top half of his head in his is early twenties, and he dealt with it by shaving the rest of his hair off.

In contrast to his smooth scalp, he sported a neatly trimmed gingery/blonde beard. He once said that it was to cover up a number of facial scars, but I didn’t feel it was pertinent to probe too deeply what those scars were. In any event, that were not immediately obvious underneath the hair, so I assumed they were fairly minor.

In addition to the beard, he accessorised his face with a set of thin-rimmed metal glasses. Rather more oval than the circular sort worn by John Lennon, the resemblance was still there (had I been younger, perhaps I would have been reminded of Harry Potter, but they’ll always be Lennon’s glasses to me).

Putting all of these aspects together, small, bald, beard, glasses, one could easily relegate him to the category ‘nerd’. I could also mention his interest in Reddit and job in I.T., neither of which really help with the impression.

But there’s more to his guy than a flippant pigeon-holing would allow. There are the little wrinkles around his eyes which speak of a capacity for laughter, delicate tender fingers which show kindness and dexterity, and the faded, flared jeans that appeared to be a permanent fixture of his wardrobe. Then there’s his ability to engage in intelligent feminist discourse, his keen and enquiring mind, his obvious and conspicuous care for people in his life who are having a rough time, like his sister and his best friend.

Since we broke up, I’ve tried to dissect what went wrong with the relationship, on paper it seemed like we were well suited, and initially it went strongly. But maybe it’s not useful to try to dissect matters of the heart. It was very pleasant while it lasted, and he is certainly an excellent human being. I enjoyed sharing those weeks with him, and I feel like I’ve learned a lot from it. I wish him all the best with finding someone to spend his life with, as I keep walking my own path and one day hope to have someone to walk with me.

Fragile Moments

02 Saturday Mar 2013

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The following is a bit of a rambling rant. Please don’t feel any obligation to read it.

Today I’m sad. I have had an exhausting week up in Sydney doing training for my day job. The stuff covered was leadership, conflict management, and HR skills. Four and a half days of trying to work out what’s wrong with us and how to be better at our jobs.

At one point, about 3pm on Wednesday afternoon I cracked. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I just wanted to hide and cry and eat. I managed to stay in the room for the rest of the afternoon and even pretended to get involved in some of the activities but I’d definitely hit a wall.

I don’t remember exactly what tipped me over the edge, what it was that triggered an enormous rush of anxiety to wash over me. Maybe it was one thing, or maybe it was a culmination of things from the first three days of training but it was just all too much for me.

I had a similar experience today. I was out for lunch with a couple of people I’d met through my writers’ group. At one point I started to tell them about the stuff I was going through at the moment, about the dark place I’m in, and some of the stuff I’ve been trying to do in my life to get it sorted out. At one point one of my companions decided that I had a personality disorder; well first one and later he revised it to a different one. This is a man I’ve met only once before today. A man who has no qualifications in psychology or any related fields. At first I thought he might be right, but the more I thought about it, the less I felt like that. I felt like he was trying to fit me into a box, to invalidate my experiences by saying I was ‘just disordered’, not a response to some particularly challenging circumstances. It also seemed to me to be a bit of a cop out, as my understanding of personality disorders is that they are incredibly difficult to treat and hard to overcome.

I don’t want anyone reading this to think that I have a problem with anyone with a personality disorder, or that I am judging anyone, well except this guy. My issue is they way that conversation made me feel. I felt small. I felt broken. I felt dismissed. I felt like telling him to shove it up his arse. That he had no right to cast aspersions on my mental health. That he was not trained and that he suffered from the tendency of first year medical/psychology students to diagnose themselves and others with all sorts of exotic problems.

I guess I am probably particularly sensitive to shifts in my mood lately, and to trying to figure out the things which have caused the shift but I still think that it was out of line.

So I’m sad. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing really well, other times not so much. Anyway just thought I’d have a rant. I took a few photos while I was away, not as many as I would have liked, I’ll put some of the good ones up soon.

Strange days

07 Friday Dec 2012

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I’ve been in a strange place this week. My day job has been quite hard and I have been questioning whether I’m really capable of doing it. I finished writing my novel and have been feeling a bit lost without it, but also creatively exhausted and at the moment sort of dreading having to edit it. I feel like I want to write but that I haven’t quite got any words left.

So this morning I wrote this poem.

Mornings

There is something
reassuringly normal
about lazy mornings.
It’s eating muesli
reading the news
sipping coffee
and thinking maybe
this is the meaning of life
pleasant moments
that bridge the gaps
between the ups
and the downs.

Why can’t I just stay in bed?

22 Monday Oct 2012

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It’s hard to explain my depression to someone who’s never been through it. It’s normal for people to feel sad sometimes, everyone has times like that and there is a comfort in knowing that you have something to be sad about. For me, at this moment in time, I’m sad for no reason. I feel like I’ve been hollowed out and all of my emotions have been replaced with ‘sad’ or ‘nothing’. Normal sadness and grief are sharp, they stab you at one point, for one reason and you know it, depression is like white noise that you can hear all the time, if you concentrate on something else for a while, you can not think about it, but the noise is always there, gradually wearing away at you.

People who have watched Dexter might have a bit of an understanding of what I mean here, but I feel like the times when I’m happy are a mask, a costume that I put on. If I pretend to be happy I can convince myself for a while that I’m ok, but it doesn’t last. I can distract my self with TV or watching stuff on youtube, even going to work or visiting people, but it’s only a band-aid, as soon as it ends I go back to being filled with an enormous black hole, a heavy feeling in my stomach that makes me feel sick.

I saw the GP this morning, told him about the crushing sadness. I feel like since starting the medication (a bit over two weeks ago) my anxiety has reduced significantly, but now I’m just full of empty, directionless sadness. The worst thing about it is that it’s not as though I’m sad about anything, I’m just sad. All I want to do is sleep, or stare out the window or some other equally motionless activity. The GP and I decided to increase my medication. He said I was looking better than when I last saw him. I guess it’s comforting, but I really don’t know if I feel better. Without the anxiety I feel like there’s a gaping maw of sadness waiting to swallow me if I let my defences down.

The thing about my depression is that sometimes I feel like I’m defined by it; that I wonder who I’d be without it. I get that it’s a sickness and I get that this is possibly as bad as I’ve ever been, but sometimes I wonder who would be left without it. Sometimes I feel like I’ve grown up with it and I’m not ready to let it go, but then I remember that I’ve been working so hard for so long to get well that it doesn’t matter what comes next. I am me and no one can change that. The things that happened to me over my life will always be there with me, and if I can kick this depression maybe I’ll be able to achieve some of the stuff I’m too frightened to even try right now.

This is a bit rambley, so I’m sorry, but I’m not really doing that well. Before I go I have to mention this blog:http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com.au/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html , it says a lot of what I’ve said with pictures. Except that it sort of has a happy ending and I don’t yet.

Also Jenny, The Bloggess, has lots of great things to say about depression/mental illness, like this: http://thebloggess.com/2012/04/depression-lies/ this one is pretty great.

What it means to admit I have depression.

04 Thursday Oct 2012

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I have struggled with depression a lot in my life I have just turned 28. The first time I was referred to the school counselor I was 11 years old. After that I saw several counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists and family therapists throughout my school life and early adulthood.

When I was 14 I tried to kill myself. Not very effectively, I really just wanted someone to notice and help me. I left home when I was 18 and moved in with my boyfriend who was even more fucked up than me. There were times I would cry myself to sleep. For more than ten years the black cloud hung over me.

However, in the last few years I have felt better. Since I ended my last serious relationship, in mid 2009, I thought I was better. I thought I’d kicked the Black Dog out of my life.

About a year ago I started seeing a psychologist. With her I have made some real break-throughs about who I am, what I want out of life, who I should surround myself with. She is helping me to learn to love myself and to assert my needs for emotional support from people around me. She is teaching me how to feel human again.

But right now it feels like too much too fast. For the last month I have found it harder and harder to face people. The very idea of it fills me with dread. I just want to hide in my room and never leave, and yet I’m filled with loneliness, emptiness. Sometimes it takes all my energy, every ounce of willpower, just to leave the house. I sit in my room and weep. For no real reason – it just hurts. Night time is always worse.

Little things will trigger a spiraling internal dialogue about how worthless I am. Sometimes it’s not even that clear as negative internal dialogue, just something happens that reminds me of all the pain I’m trying to manage and it comes welling up.

I feel heavy inside all the time. Like it is harder to walk, to move. I feel like I’m wading through waist-deep honey. Sometimes I think about driving my car into a wall, or hurting myself in other ways just to make it stop. It is an effort to smile and make conversations with people; to hide what’s happening inside. I don’t want anyone to know because I’m ashamed.

I am afraid they will think I’m a whinger, that I have everything going for me, that I have nothing to complain about. I’m afraid they will look at me as though I’m a burden to them. That they will push me away because they don’t know how to deal with me. Part of this is the depression, whispering in my ear, lying to me, but part of it is true.

I have not had a good record of having people around me who have the emotional know-how, resources or willingness to support me so when I reached out to them they push me away, or placate me, or distract me, or deny me.

It has taken a lot for me to admit to myself that I have depression. Even with the stuff I was doing with my psychologist, it’s only in the last week that I’ve said to myself ‘You are not ok. You need to take steps to be ok. You will be ok’.

So I’ve made an appointment to get some antidepressants. I’m seeing my psychologist regularly. I am writing this here because I need to say it. I need people around me to understand that sometimes I just can’t see you and it’s not your fault. I need people to know what’s going on for me, but I don’t need you to do anything different. Just be yourselves, your gorgeous selves and let me do the work with my psychologist and my doctor. I don’t need you to be my counselor  I need you to be my friend. To hug me, to tell me you love me and to give me some slack when I need it.

I need to tell you this here because I can’t tell you to your faces. I’m just not that strong.

I need to say it here because there are people in the world, many that I don’t even know, who need to hear it, to know it’s ok to say I am not ok, to know that depression lies and that you are not alone.

Hard days and nights

11 Saturday Aug 2012

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This last couple of days have been particularly hard for me. In addition to being cooped up inside for the second week in a row I’ve been going through some pretty heavy self-reflection.

I had a run in with my estranged father. He came across this blog and I was horrified. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about it that really bothered me for a while. Once I’d thought about it though, I realised that it was because I don’t want him to see me like this; exposed, vulnerable, open because I don’t feel like he deserves it. Because I think he will hurt me if he knows what’s happening in my life.

We had a very strained relationship when I was growing up for several reasons; the most salient for me was the way he approached my chronic depression. My father doesn’t believe in psychology/psychiatry or indeed in depression and so when asked to participate in family counselling sessions to help me he was sarcastic and dismissive. He was effectively saying “pull yourself together, it’s all in your head and you just need to get over it.” Not super helpful sentiments in terms of my recovery.

After my parents separated a few years ago my contact with my father has been limited to emails for birthdays and Christmas and I was happy with that. Each time we had contact I remembered why I didn’t want to be around him. I came away from those interactions drained, my soul heavy and unable to relate to his outlook on life.

I have been looking at some of my habits, friendship groups and lifestyle choices for the last few years and seeing how destructive they are and in some ways how much they are not authentic to me anymore.

When I was at uni I had several different groups of friends; some of whom mixed and some of whom were not compatible with the others. Over the years I have let most of these slip by the wayside, reducing my social circles to just one. Without realising it that one circle had told me that I was different, that I didn’t deserve to have ‘normal’ friends, and that I had to stick in only that circle because it was the only one that could truly understand me. It was almost like having an abusive lover who wants you only to hang out with them.

Now I don’t want to imply that any single individual within that group was saying this, because they have always been open and welcoming. Merely that this is how I chose to interpret my membership to the group and my own identity within it. I no longer feel like that group is where I want to be, and that makes me sad in some ways but also relieved.

I have started the long and slow process of developing new groups of friends and new social circles. I am impatient though because building up friendships takes a lifetime and I don’t want to wait that long.

I’m also a little lazy and a little afraid. I don’t want to have to put myself out there, to be vulnerable to rejection by groups/people because I’m new. It’s emotionally draining to try to make in-roads into groups, most people my age have got pretty solid, well defined and long standing friendships. But it’s either that or become a lonely hermit, which is not really what I want. So I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and get out there and hope that people are welcoming and open to someone like me trying to find her way.

Next week my job is sending me to Adelaide for a training course so I will hopefully be able to get some photos of the city of churches to post here.

Trust the Universe

03 Sunday Jun 2012

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I wrote quite a long post about how I’ve been a bit down recently over my lack of romance. I have decided not to publish that. Instead, I am going to publish the below list of affirmations that came out of that post and that I want to make the mantras of my life.

I am quiet; I can hear what the universe is telling me in a whisper.
I am open; I am ready to accept into my heart whoever the universe brings me.
I am patient; I accept that I am not ready for some of the things the universe has planned and I accept that they will come when I am ready for them.
I am worthy; I deserve to be happy and fulfilled.
I am strong; I am strong enough to admit that I need other people to support me.
I love myself; I am a fantastic person and deserve to make others richer through my friendship with them.
I am willing to learn; I will do everything in my power to accept the lessons I am shown and to absorb the knowledge of the universe.
I am a creator; I create my world, I create my art, I create myself.
I am powerful; I am the only person who can accept the gifts of the universe.
I am sensitive; I allow myself to feel pain and joy and suffering and ecstasy.

I hope that by putting these affirmations out into the universe they become real for me. It is hard to accept that this part of my journey is a lonely one, but I believe that it is merely the darkness before the light, the cold that gives definition to the warmth.

So Universe – I give myself up to you!