“I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.”
And this is why I love Oscar Wilde. I quite agree with him, actually, which is why this quote makes today’s writing topic as I am once again procrastinating.
I am an incredibly social person about 80% of the time; I love spending time with people, I love talking about things that matter or laughing over silliness, and I love the warmth of good company. But – and apparently I get this from my dad, because he’s the same way – I am also completely content to be by myself. It almost never makes me lonely and, if I’m forced to be around people 24/7, I tend to withdraw into myself and become an un-social person really quickly. On the trip to Ireland, I made it five days before sneaking off to a coffeeshop by myself to sip my cappuccino without the need for conversation.
There are times, though, when I go into shutdown-mode without the trigger of constant socializing. There are times, like today, when I simply want to curl up in a ball and do nothing until I turn grey. I crave very long silence, very long not-thinking. These are the times that worry me, when I get like this. Eventually I snap out of it – I did today, or I wouldn’t be writing.
I had a good reason to shut down this weekend, and I knew it was going to happen but still wasn’t prepared when it hit. He blew me off this week and I knew that’s what it was, but I wanted to hear him say it. I thought that would help…it didn’t. Each time I think that I’m okay, that I can handle it, something happens to show me how very much I can’t.
I understand ‘busy.’ I do, I get it. I am not some crazypsychogirl who irrationally asks for constant attention. I work multiple jobs and go to school full time and oh! did I mention I’m writing my thesis? But, to me, maintaining a friendship involves some effort from both sides and I have tried. I have tried over and over for the past seven months because of one stupidly good day we had over Christmas break, a day I thought might have meant we had a slim shot at being friendly, truly.
I am aware, painfully so, that I am not over a relationship that barely got a chance to start two years ago. I can’t believe it’s been two years. But I can hide it. I can suck it up because it is more important to me to be a part of your life and know that you’re happy. And nothing has hurt near as much as knowing that I no longer merit even a couple hours out of your day. It smarts to know that I am so uninteresting to a person I continue to hold in such high esteem simply for who he is.
I do not mind being alone; it’s different than lonely. Another person, or my feelings for that person, do not define me. But there is a peculiar sort of pang that comes from the knowledge you are expressly not wanted.