I don't want to go to bed when I feel this way.
I tend to scour the web for signs of life and some sense of connection.
On these nights, it always seems as if I've already checked every email, and written every person who could possibly answer back.
Some of the most important people in my life don't answer back on nights like this.
I turn to Facebook and search first my wall and then my newsfeed for signs that there's anyone else in the world feeling as empty as I do, or signs that anyone else cares to know how I really feel at all.
I read one joke after another searching for something to laugh about.
I read one inspiring quote after another, searching for something that will make me feel less alone.
I stuff myself with food and media, filling in the hollows of my soul and the cracks in my mind with as much -- or more -- than they can hold, as if this overflow of information is going to stick to my ribs instead of running out the cracks and leaving me feeling emptier than before.
On these nights, I can hear the clock ticking on the wall.
The ironic thing about this is that probably I could pick up the phone and give someone a call if I wanted to. An actual call is likely to evoke a response.
Or I could paint and all the emptiness would disappear.
But now that I've remembered that, I realize that I have to go to bed.
I'm going to be doing some volunteering in the morning. There will be smiling people and lights and children, and I will be helpful and friendly and brave. I will walk those halls with an answering smile to a question no one is even thinking to ask me -- Are you all right?
My smile says I'm fine, doesn't it?
And I am.
Fine means that I'm coping.
Fine means that I've got it under control.
Fine means I don't need anyone to help me.
Fine means that I'm observing my life from a distance and don't know how to actually live it.
Fine means that intellectually I am aware that loneliness and emptiness are not permanent states.
Fine means that I will be able to fall asleep so long as I imagine that there's someone there holding me and reassuring me that emptiness and loneliness are not permanent states.
Fine means that reading a blog or "Liking" something on Facebook is contact enough for anyone.
Fine means that even though I want people to care enough to answer my emails, I am aware that the world doesn't end when they don't because I could go out and find new people who do care.
Fine means that I can always shove down my sadness and find something funny to joke about.
Fine means that I can joke about my sadness, even -- make it just one big joke.
Fine means that if I do find someone on Facebook who is hurting, lonely, sad, or discouraged, I will take the time to post something encouraging on their wall the way I wish someone else would do for me.
Fine means that I will continue to struggle with my diet of food and information overload for as long as it takes for me to stop being fine and start choosing to be happy.
Because, damn it, being happy is a choice.
I can make that choice.
Fine means that the reason I don't just pick up the phone and call a friend or family member, or paint that cathartic picture, is because I haven't decided yet if I deserve to be happy at all.
Fine means I'd better get to bed so I can sleep until the morning, for in the morning I will be distracted from the emptiness for a few hours, sometimes days or weeks.
I almost wish I didn't feel fine at all.
I wish that I would feel motivated instead.
I wish that I could learn to love myself.
I wish ...
So much stuff in the world, and yet so many of us feel so empty and needy.
And there is nothing fine about being empty and needy. In fact, it's an unspoken taboo.
To admit that you are not fine, that you are empty and need to be filled with love and acceptance, is like admitting that you've stolen from people or lied to and cheated people. To admit that you are not fine is ugly and scary because it means that maybe no one else is really fine, either.
And so i don't.
Except here.
Because no one reads it anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment