A Life for the Other.

The happiest times of my life have always been the times I was living for others.

I don’t mean that others were the only things I was living for…there have always been reasons to live even if there wasn’t any real love of life to speak of. What I mean is that I have been happiest when I was wanted and “needed” by others. The times when I knew that certain people would notice if I weren’t there – that they would miss me while I was gone.

I know that people say they miss me. But few show it. I never feel missed unless someone shows it. It is not enough for me – or maybe not for anyone – to say “I miss you.” If you miss someone, do you reach out for them? Invite them back into your life? No? Then you do not really miss them.

Right now I feel as though I am really only living for myself. I am not necessary. When I get money, I spend it on myself. I have no one else to spend it on. When I have time, I spend it for myself. I have no one else to spend time on. Even when I’m with other people, I am not necessary for the party. It would go on if I were not there. I once thought it would be enough to simply be invited out by a friend once in a while. Now I know that is not true – it only hurt to be left out. What is really desired by me is to know that I am wanted by a person for who I am.

I know that I am at least liked by others (if not wanted), but I do not think they know who I am. I know they think they know, but what they know of me is really a shadow of my real self – or a caricature. They fill in for what they do not know. To really know me, someone has to ask about the things that I think and feel and attempt to understand. And who does that? Whether because of habit or the intimidating task of the act, no one I know right now really does.

Does this mean I want romance? I do not know. This one thing is what makes me doubt my intentional avoidance of any relationships. For on the one hand, I know that I feel some acute stress every time I think about dating, and feel disgusted every time I imagine myself dating anyone anymore, but on the other, I know I want to be loved just like anyone else. I don’t want to lie in wait for love to fall on me, as if love is crammed behind a closet door, waiting for someone to open it so it can tumble all over. That’s not the way it works. But I can’t bring myself to care enough to change anything.

What I do know is what I always know – how I feel. And right now I can handle this feeling just fine. It’s unpleasant, like a dull ache that an aspirin can’t cure, but tolerable. But whether by choice, or chance, or the long decay of time I know that will change. And I know that I am stubborn enough to hold to suffering rather than let go of bitterness.

There was a dream that I dreamed, a dream of loving loneliness.