“…But aren’t you lonely?”
I responded quite steadily as if it were a question that I had been asked numerous
times before. This wasn’t the case, but perhaps I already had an answer because
unconsciously, I’ve developed the systematic compartmentalization to
withdraw from any negativity as though it were plagued with the sickliest of thoughts.
What felt as though a generalized question that bared no meaning in my life, I found
myself dwelling about it hours later.
Was I really lonely? Had I been lonely all this time?
Perhaps this question is one of which I cannot simply answer. Consciously, I am readily
anxious to avoid as much contact as possible with others. The socialization that I obtain
is seemingly enough; Not enough to where I am crawling with angst and anxiety;
enough to satisfy the urge of external human contact. See, I wasn’t always determined
to seclude myself from the world, the tides just seem to roll my way to where the correct
number of sandbags are required for prevention of flooding. With people come drama
and when the exceeding amount overcomes you with grief, you tend to go your own
way. Such is what I’ve done, but to no avail of myself. My social awkwardness that has
developed over the years has stemmed from years of grief and desecration of my
emotions. Inevitably, it turned into withdrawal of the thing that is desired by many. The seclusion of myself, seems to alter my mind in a way of freedom. Instead of worrying
about where the next bout of anxiety will leach from, I am free to wander in my own
wanderlust. I’ve eradicated any addiction that had been developed, perhaps except one.
The depression that plagues my mind a prison in itself. While the drama from others
was the main source of despair previously, my mind seems to make up for the lack
thereof. The freedom to which is achieved is followed by a euphoric mindset, but one
that does not give you the positive release that so many feel. It clouds my mind to
where I feel nothing. An oxymoron, if you will, could state that the freedom that has
been developed has also been a detriment. In eradicating the angst. I eradicated
myself. In imprisoning myself to solitude I not only locked up my own mind, I’ve
prevented it from resurfacing. Such has been this way for so long as to even if given the
chance to find happiness, I would falter even that. While this may have seemed like a
digression of the original question, it’s certainly on the verge of an answer.
Unconsciously, my inner self wants to surface. The person that I had sheltered for so
long has such a strong desire to become unshelled but has no way of doing so. Riddled
with explicit self-awareness, self-doubt, and social anxiety, it seems as though the only
way out if by another. Who, however, really wants to become a mentor, or mender? The
person that has been suppressed by the conscious, whom lives in the unconscious, is
the loneliest man on earth. The desire to become one with others, have passions as
most others do themselves, the burning need to love another is something unachievable
on my own. The verbal answer to whom the question was asked is complex. A simple
“yes”, while only three letters, holds hundreds of emotions and feeling behind it. A
complex “no” is something vastly unachievable to relinquish through the lips of one that
is hurting in such a way that cannot be justifiably explained to someone on the exterior.
It’s as though there is a two-way pane of glass, solid to the touch 99% of the time and
vaguely transparent that .1%, and a regular, see-through window that is a quarter of the
way open on the other. There is one half of me on one side, the other half on the other,
and the world is on the other side of the window. The subconscious rests on the end
where it can see out, but those on the other, the conscious, cannot reciprocate the
stare. On the other side of the window which is sandwiching the conscious between the
two-way pane, rests the world. They can both see each other, but the contact between
them is ever so limited. The unconscious is hidden from everyone but watches
vigorously. Neither the world, nor its own conscious can access it, except for a brief
moment to where that pane becomes transparent enough to get a glimpse. The problem
is, when the transparency comes about, neither are prepared so the conscious attempts
to rush the unconscious with information that should be revealed on a daily basis and
vice versa. This clash, while limited in time, can be devastating. The world, however, is
unable to help. The conscious screams to the world for assistance, but despite the
willingness to help, it’s just an unachievable feat. Both the conscious, and unconscious
are alone, and while one had greater contact than the other, they are both in solitude.
Through osmosis, the negativity that had reached the conscious previously seeped
through the two-way pane but is unable to escape. When that transparent window
opens, the only way the unconscious is able to save itself, is by deploying
countermeasures so rash, it creates the discrepancies, the evasive maneuvers that is
lived in now, between the two worlds. Yes, I am lonely… but I cannot escape alone.