This month has been all about celebrating the love and babies of my friends, and I’ve explained this before; It’s not that I dread the celebrations themselves, it’s that I’d like some of what they all have for myself, but haven’t gotten my chance yet.
It’s possible to be truly happy for others and also be tired of lifting yourself. The dichotomy between fully trusting it’ll happen when it’s supposed to, but feeling despondent because it hasn’t. Even when I’m having a great time, I still feel that strong undercurrent of longing. I don’t talk too much about any of it to friends because if I hear one more platitude from well-meaning people, I’m going to lose it.
The hardest part about these celebrations for me has always been afterwards, coming home to nobody. This is nothing new, I’ve been coming home to nobody my entire adult life, which I say as fact… Not as a plea for sympathy.
I’m good at it because I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I don’t want it to be like this forever.
On the way back from the reception tonight, I told myself what I always tell myself: that my feelings are valid, and it’s important to work through them (as opposed to stuffing them down or discounting them), but I have to remain hopeful.
The walls in this building are thick enough that I may hear our heavy doors shut as people come and go, but I’ve never actually heard any of my neighbors. I walked into my place just before midnight, brushed my teeth, got undressed in the dark, crawled into bed, and refused to have a pity party. There are much bigger problems in the world.
Just as I was almost asleep, I heard the people upstairs having a whole lot of sex. I thought, “Good for them!”(for real), and then I cried. But only for a few minutes.
Long story long, brains and feelings are stupid. Would not recommend.