On Being Alone
Last week I made a pretty raw post on here and I think through various posts, here or on Instagram, it’s pretty clear that I’m looking for love and singlehood isn’t exactly my jam. For some reason, there’s some shame and desperation attached to saying you want love. Especially since the lack thereof is often portrayed to put you on a path of a hundred cats, a decrepit home, and a smelly nightgown you have not changed in decades. But I think the reason love continues to be a difficult topic for me is because I’ve always been alone.
If there’s one thing that’s been consistent in my life, it’s that I’m all too familiar with being by myself. I’m used to retreating to my desk, my room, my life. And not to brag, but I’m pretty great company for myself. Killing time is not a problem for me and I know the various things I can do to distract or entertain myself. I’ve done this from a very young age which means I figured out pretty quickly what I like and what I don’t like. What is something I would try and what is something I won’t. What would work for me and what won’t. And this is why it’s always funny to me when people who don’t know me all that well tell me things like how I can use this as “an opportunity” to learn about who I am and what I like when I say I’m single. I smile and nod along politely not wanting to say, “Lady, I’ve literally done only this since the day I was born.”
Over the years, through a series of poor choices in friendships (driven by a bizarre combination of the need for validation, a want to be needed and a healthy dose of poor self-esteem), I’ve built a very small circle for myself. Which is great because I can make decisions for myself, decisions I know I like. Conflict is surprisingly minimal in my life since there is literally no one to upset or offend, and also because the secondary drama that trickles in when you have people in your life – as we all inevitably talk about other people in our lives – is near non-existent. I can go to a theatre by myself, read a book, or try a new hobby or activity without waiting for someone else to join me. No FOMOs and no heartbreaks over things like, “Babe you don’t like that I dyed my hair red?? But I LOVE it?!?!” I don’t owe anyone anything. Every time I let go of a toxic friendship, I mourn it, but there’s also this weight that just lifts off me and makes me go, “Ah. Finally in my own truth again.” There are loads of times when I have thought, “I’m so glad I don’t have problems like that.” because too many people were involved and people have this tendency to complicate the simplest of things.
And of course, only having had me over the years, my instincts are razor sharp. There are loads of subtle cues I unconsciously fixate on, like the choice of words or eye movements. Sometimes they are great because I know when I have an audience and when I can say what would really bring a point home. And sometimes they end up being my red flags. Say if someone resurfaces in my life after some time with a seemingly innocent “Hey! Long time, we should catch up!”, I just have this feeling. And whether it’s to my advantage or disappointment, my instincts are usually right. When you’ve been on the sidelines for so long, you have had more time to observe the game of human interaction. You learn pretty quickly from other’s mistakes. And having been by myself all these years, I’ve learned everything I know and got to where I am all by myself. I’m generally proud of myself for this although I’ve created a situation where I have had people leech off me over the years under the pretence of “Oh, there’s no one but you to help me with this, Thendral! You’re my best friend, you’re so talented!” while doing absolutely fuck all for me in return. So this is what I try to use when faced with a challenge: “You’ve done SO much by yourself Thendral, you’ve come so far, this is nothing. You can do this too!” On some days, this is empowering for me. On some days, it’s isolating.
And that’s the thing about having been by myself with a very small circle. Loneliness is inevitable, and it’s easier to hit lows of lows. I don’t have very many people to talk to, so I use the very same mechanisms I use to escape reality to also cope with my emotions. This means sometimes I am not living life, instead, distracting myself from it for long periods of time. You can call me Thor because only I have the capability (strength?) to pick up the Mjolnir that’s my heart and move on every single time. And sometimes, you just don’t want to move on yet, you know? You want to wallow. (Seriously, whatever Thor was processing in Endgame was something I felt on a spiritual level).
And of course, over the years, I’ve learned plenty of things about relationships just by watching from afar and introspecting. Despite being by myself. I no longer know how comfortable I would be to refer to a partner as “my better half” or say things like “you complete me” since I’ve learned that I am whole on my own. I know expecting a non-existent person to be the source of my happiness is ridiculous, and if I don’t love myself, no one else would anyway. Discovering more about myself despite having a pretty solid self-identity has been interesting and liberating. And while it was one thing to be comfortable by myself all these years, it was another to learn that being by myself is also a good enough way to live life.
Yet, I love the simplicity of human connections too. We humans are wired to want it for evolutionary purposes after all. Pretty trite way to see things I know, but it also feels like the most effective explanation. That something about having connections make us feel happier, secure and more content in life even if it’s just to sustain life. Some of us don’t want that and that’s fine, and some of us want it, and that’s fine too. And that’s why I think it’s okay to be secure by yourself and still seek love. Healthy even. I don’t think there’s an overlap between the two, I don’t think one necessarily influences the other, and I don’t think they are mutually exclusive. All these posts about me being single are not that I think I deserve love, it’s just that I believe in love. I love love, and it has been my primary motivation for so many years now. Having never had it. Imagine if I did have it! And while I’m single and struggle with relationships and consequently, my self-esteem, I’m not looking for someone to rescue me from my loneliness or even myself at all. That’s not how I see love. The way I see it, at its purest, there’s nothing quite vulnerable as loving someone. Nothing quite unconditional, sincere, or reverent. I’ve gone off tangent romanticising love. What I’m trying to say is, all my posts on singlehood so far are what happens when a “lack” mindset takes over. It’s like when someone who believes in God has their faith questioned and has that, “If God is real, why is there so much war and suffering??” crisis. But for the most part, I love, therefore I am.
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