Unlonely

I’ve had a year to forget. The lonely is kicking my ass seemingly daily. I just can’t seem to get back to being the good me. I get stuck comparing what I give and what I get back. And I can’t conclude anything other that it’s unfair. These are the blogs I never end up writing, because I feel like I’ll sound like a whiny little bitch. But, I’ve got to get through these thoughts and feelings or they’ll bury me.

I spent most of my life hating myself. Feeling stupid for any and every time I did something awkward. And then grace hit me so hard that I found all the tears I’d never been able to cry. I came to life when someone actually took the time to listen to me. She was the therapist who actually allowed me to give myself a break. To stop being so hard on myself. To appreciate what a great human I am.

It was all too much. Going from so much self-hatred, to seeing myself the way she did. It’s like she was the parent I always needed. She instantly saw the beauty in me that I was too ashamed to notice. I was stuck in my depression and she offered a hand to pull me out.

There’s a scene from Les Miserables where Jean ValJean is given undeserved grace by the bishop. The kindness was so unexpected. Valjean’s response was a shocked and tearful “why are you doing this?” I remember after meeting with my therapist walking around my empty hotel room and repeating that phrase over and over.

Why was I so lucky? Free therapy for six years. the lady gave completely unnecessarily. To me. Why me? I’d come to her home office with pages in hand…stuff I wrote on the blog. And she’d have this warm smile on her face. She got to see the real me. The good me. The me I can’t seem to find these days. She saw and helped cultivate a growth in me that was pretty fucking amazing. And yet super simple.

I liked myself.

I can’t put into words how great that felt for a kid who had always been so unsure of himself. And that’s what I can’t seem to get back to. i spend another lonely night and it’s easy to fall back into hating myself. I look at how unsocial I’ve become. And how few my options are as far as people to hang out with and I don’t get it. It makes me end up questioning myself. I’m a good guy. I’m fun. I’m clever. I like talking about the real. But, day after day goes by and I’m just flat lonely.

And in those lonely spots I picture the people who have put me in holes. The people who hurt me. And I see them as happy and content, with friends and maybe even loved ones. And it’s just this mind fuck. I’ve been a victim. I’ve been abused. I’ve been left behind. I’ve been taken for granted. And taken advantage of. And yet, somehow it’s the people who have kicked me when I’m down, who end up unlonely.

And meanwhile, I’m in tears listening to john prine’s Hello in There. “people just grow lonesome…waiting for someone to say…hello in there…hello.” The people who’ve hurt me just go on with their life and block out the bullshit that they put me through, while i end up gasping for breath trying to keep my head above water.

I was drowning in tears last night watching Magnolia. There’s a scene where Claudia’s dad comes to visit her. And she just fucking screams at him. over and over. “get the fuck out.” the rage. The pain. The “everything is not fine.” He sexually abused her. and goes on to have this great career as a beloved tv personality.

Everyone sees him as one thing. Claudia sees him as another. She suffers unbearable lonely as a result. And I think when I talk shit on my dad out here or take a hard stance of not talking to him and not letting the kids see him, sometimes I feel like people (including my ex-wife) think I’m being overly dramatic. But, watching that scene with Claudia made me realize I’m not hard enough on him.

Why I’m so fucked in the head and why the lonely feels so unbearable to me has everything to do with what he put me through as a kid. You can’t get abused by your mom and then have that lady babysit your kids. so, get the fuck out is letting him off too easy.

I’m the one who has to live with the shame. I’m the one who can’t sustain a relationship. I’m the one who carries around the pain of what other people did to me. So, yeah…when I feel guilty for saying things like “it’s not fair”…fuck that. It isn’t. I’m not okay. And it’s not my fucking fault.

The only positive I see from the river of shit I’ve been through, is that I have sympathy for other people who have been through shit. But, in most cases those people aren’t capable of giving. So I get hurt again. Most people don’t fight their pasts. I was lucky to get 6 years of therapy. And to have found writing as a way to cope with my shit.

But, no amount of writing or therapy can get me to a place where what’s been done to me is okay. And sometimes it really pisses me off that the hand I’ve been dealt requires so much god damn maintenance. If I stop writing, the wheels come off so fucking fast. And I used to have people I talked to regularly about life and that’s just not there anymore these days.

And that’s the thing. The antidote to my lonely, even when I’ve been single, has always been story time with other people with fucked up back stories. But, it seems like these days those moments are few and far between. And when I finally get some good story time in, I’m too drunk to appreciate the beauty/pain in the conversations I have. I’ve got to do better.

Like my therapist did for me. Her husband was sent to prison for having sex with an underage girl. How much fucking lonely did my therapist suffer through? And yet she kept practicing and helping other people and I’m guessing she found healing in the midst of helping others through their own shit.

Or take the example of my friend vicki who passed away a couple of weeks ago. Her story was heartbreaking. Lots of lonely. And yet she was the kindest of souls. She made me feel the opposite of how my loved ones have made me feel. She didn’t know me. She didn’t owe me that. But, that’s who she was.

And there it is. Good lord. Didn’t expect that to be how this one went. I really thought I was going to pound my fist and say it’s not fair. But, fuck that. We all have heartbreaking stories. We all fuck up. We all experience the lonely. I don’t have it any worse than anyone else. And lots of people have it a lot worse than me.

My job here is to find the people who need someone to say “hello in there”. Not to be the one complaining that no one is saying that to me. My time will come. I’ve got a lot of work to do on me. And I think the process of listening to other people’s stories is what’s going to help me get back to healing. I’ve got to be a better person. And friend.

I can’t quit giving just because I always seem to end up hurt. Like, with my kids it’s a no brainer. I love the shit out of them. And I’m incredibly lucky to have them. But, it’s like I have this dual life where everything is super cool when I’m with them. And I’m this troubled loner when they’re not around.

I’ve got to stop trying to fill my lonely with the shit that I know won’t help. And it really is crazy the mindset I had going into this blog, versus how I feel now. I’m determined to keep getting better instead of getting overwhelmed by feelings that I haven’t gotten what I deserve based on what I’ve given. I’m in another shit phase. But, that only means a bliss phase is around the corner.

Still, it’s okay to say that the shit that I’ve been through is not okay. And the line from magnolia, “we may be through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.” I’m going to get my ass kicked when I least expect it because of my past. So, I have to keep fighting, in order to give my kids something better. And I have to keep fighting to give strangers I haven’t even met yet something better.

I let a friend down the other day. And I spent most of yesterday just feeling like an ass hole. All I could do is apologize and move on, but I’ve got to be better than that. I’ve got to care for other people the way my therapist cared for me, no matter how I get treated back. Like Andy from Shawshank. He could have said fuck the world for getting an unfair sentence. But, he set it up so that his fellow inmates could drink beers while he looked on, sober. it looks like he got nothing. but, he got a smile, knowing he was making someone else's life better. and i owe it to the memory of my therapist and vicki to be in it for the smiles, instead of "what i deserve".

And poof. I’m still sitting here all by myself, but after writing all that out, I’m unlonely.