Being alone does not automatically make you lonely. But it can, obviously.
I’ve lived alone now for a long time. I have The Mother stay with me for weeks at a tome, several times a year. Which is great, I might add. The Daughter (more on that later) lived with me in and off for several years. I got used to it, having someone in the house, even if we were in different ends on the place.
I quite like being by myself, no one to judge my habits etc. I can do what I want and everything is how I like it.
But…. I have realised lately, possibly due to lockdown, that I’m actually rather lonely. And it’s little things. Making each other a brew, laughing about something on TV, arguing about food, having someone to say goodnight to.
I have The Cat, of course, who is my little sidekick, but it’s not human interaction. And yes, while I have that at work, again, it’s not the same. I go home alone, I leave the house, alone.
I must apologise for the depressing tone of this post, it’s not what I intended to begin with. But I realise, the more that I write about it, how lonely I am.
Not a great deal I can do about that… I do phone people, The Mother, The Daughter, friends. It’s still not the same.
I wonder if it’s because I’ve been feeling crap as of late, that has made me crave that feeling of having someone near. Someone to hold your hand or give you a hug and tell you, ‘everything will be ok.’ or something along those lines.
I like my own space, I really do. But I think I’d quite like to share some of it with someone else. Just a little.
Loneliness. It’s a difficult feeling. And a difficult thing to get rid of.
But I have another strange feeling, deep down somewhere. I have hope. I hope there’s someone out there, lonely like me, who might want to not be anymore.
So I will wait. And hope. And hug The Cat.
Forever Winging It 