It’s wonderful to be alone. It’s miserable to be alone.
Sitting on the couch wrapped in the stillness, having the control over your life that only solitude can bring. Laying in bed, knowing that you can reach and stretch as far as you can without touching anything other than the cold, empty sheets, spinning out of control without an anchor to tie you down.
It’s freeing and empowering. It’s terrifying.
I thought I found her earlier this year. I was wrong. That door was closed severely, and since then I’ve been too scared to invite hope or optimism back into my life. I want – no, I crave – the rewards that come from opening up and letting someone in, but the risks have hurt me so greatly that I don’t know if I can do it.
My divorce changed my life. I began to see the value in open communication instead of using manipulation and subversive tactics to avoid conflict. Now, I pride myself in being honest and transparent, online and in person, but it’s a different type of honesty to let someone walk around in your head. Every word I write, every thought I speak, I let people in to see who I really am, but it’s not that naked baring of a soul that happens when two people share more than words. And when that person uses that vulnerability to hurt you, moving on feels impossible.
I refuse to settle just to avoid being alone, but I also don’t know how much longer I can bear it. I need that intimacy, that companionship, and that warmth. I need to have someone I can love and care for, listen to and focus on, touch and taste. I want passion and attention, a partner and a support, someone I can trust.
Alone. I embrace it, but I hate it. I’m ready to share my life with someone special, but the risk of being completely destroyed is too great. I want to find her, but what if I’m wrong again?