Well, I’m in LA again this week, and for some reason tonight I feel indescribably, unfathomably lonely.
Lately it’s been on my mind that I have no close ties to anyone, other than the Kid. You know what I mean? I talk to my family like once a year practically, and I love them, but have no idea what’s going on in their lives. I have great friends that I love dearly, but I haven’t been friends with any of them very long. My oldest friend that I have today I still have only had for five or six years. It still feels like most of them go only to a certain level and no farther…like I have twelve degrees of friendship or something, and most of my friends like to stay at level three. Or something like that.
I feel like I missed out on that whole childhood friend thing. And the whole family thing. I have two sisters, and I love them both, but I can’t (or don’t) sit down and have a nice cozy chat about my life. They both have families, and friends, and I don’t know if they ever think of me at all, or wonder what I’m doing or if I’m okay, or have any idea what’s going on in my life. Probably not, since I have no idea what’s going on in theirs. I feel like I am kind of like a shadow sort of drifting through life – almost like I’m not always completely there. Like as if I disappeared tomorrow there’d be no one to point and say, there…that’s who she was, that’s what she was all about.
It makes me feel really lonely. I mean, I’m surrounded by people but I still feel isolated, cut off, I guess is the word. I feel like in a lot of ways my life is going completely down the freaking toilet and there’s no one really at the end of the day that I can just pour my heart out to that will understand and know where I come from and make it all better.
Maybe that’s just part of being an adult, or something. I’m pretty sure I’m not the first lonely person in the world…if I was I’d be the only member of match.com. So I know I’m only feeling what millions of other people in the world feel all the time, probably to a lot higher degree than I do…it’s just that now, it’s ME and that makes it more important now. To me. I guess.
Anyway. Sometimes when I blog it’s like talking to an old friend, or what I imagine that would be like. Someone I don’t have to explain myself to and who knows every little last secret about me so I can just talk and say whatever and it doesn’t matter. Even if no one ever reads what I write, it’s still soothing to at least write it down and get it out there.
I’ve been working more on my book. I write a few new pages then go back and re-read and edit a lot. I don’t know if that’s how normal writers work. I don’t even know if it’s total crap or not, but I enjoy it. It feels right when I do it. So maybe that’s all the reason I need.
Work seems to be about the only thing going well for me at the moment. The only area of my life that I haven’t managed to completely cock up in one way or another. I find that I do it more often for that reason – I work extra long hours and am constantly thinking about it, because it makes me feel good, to feel needed, to spend time doing something I am reasonably good at. Maybe that’s why the rest of my life is in the crapper, maybe I don’t have enough of a balance.
Now I feel like I’m slipping into self pity, and that’s not really what I wanted to talk about, just more to throw a little something out there so I felt like even if it’s only me that knows it’s there…at least it is.