It dawned on me just now, as I contemplated logging in to Facebook to see what’s new in my stream with all the people near and far, real and virtual who have come to populate much of my online life, that I was doing so in order to keep from feeling. Specifically, to keep from feeling lonely.
The thought — I am lonely — blindsided me. I am lonely? Really? In this house with my soulmate, the man who now calls me his beloved, his twin flame? How can I be lonely?
I am, and I am afraid.
My bed calls to me, yards of white fluffiness, pillowy billowy down-filled whiteness. Come to me, it says. Rest in me. Sleep. Fall into oblivion. And so I do. I want to. I want to not think not feel not hurt not remember how alone I am. Not.
And I am angry. There is far too much Not in my world, I think, too much that I am Not. Too much that I will Not. Too much that I can Not.
I am. I will. I can.
So what do I do other than plow through this? One foot in front of the other, one breath, one heartbeat. The space between the footsteps, the breaths, the beats seems enormous. Stretching wide and far and deep. A chasm yawning into loneliness.
Burrowing into whiteness, blocking out the insistent voice of Fear, sinking deep into quiet. If you need me, that’s where I will be.