Sometimes I feel lonely when I am surrounded by people; sometimes I’m literally alone and I hate being alone.
I’ve been sleeping away my weekends to avoid that shit, which I suppose is better than drinking to avoid it. Going to sleep as soon as possible on Fridays after work, waking up early, then morning nap. Meander around the house, do something productive, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Eat, sleep, poop.
Like today. I pushed myself to take a shower. Pushed myself to go to the store. And now I have five hours before Bruce gets home from work before it’s time to watch some TV and slip again into Dreamy McDreamland. I want to curl into bed so bad right now.
I feel something stirring, like something isn’t right. I’m not where I should be, and I know what I have wanted for a long time. It’s fear that’s stopping me.
I have always needed a partner, though. At my core, I am a follower. I want someone to save me. I want someone to push me. I want someone on my path with me. I want guidance about every decision that I make so that if I fuck it up, it’s not totally my fault. That gives me the okay to point the finger a bit. Just a bit. If I go down, you’ll go down with me. And I won’t end up a lonely failure.
It’s really awful to admit that. See why I hate being alone? I see the ugly in me.
I’m going to get these sweet tats: