If I was still using Twitter, I’d have been on it for hours tonight already. (It’s 2:30 a.m.) Instead, I’ve been trolling my blogroll, looking for who’s written something new since yesterday, which is hardly anybody. Then, back to Captain Awkward, reading more posts about people who see their friend groups multiple times per month, but that’s not a lot.
When I was single, I didn’t date a lot of people, but just realized tonight that… either they didn’t have any friends, they had long-distance friends, or I just never met any of their friends. I didn’t meet Spouse’s best friend (a long-distance friend) until months after we were married. Spouse was legitimately part of at least two friend-groups… when he was a teenager. And possibly with coworkers when he was newly-divorced, years before we met. But not in the last 25 years.
I would spend hours and hours on Twitter, especially late at night, musing to myself because I was lonely. Sometimes someone would respond — not always the same people.
Supposedly, being chronically lonely wrecks your health and shortens your life expectancy, but… I’ve been chronically lonely since I was… a toddler, pretty much. And yet I’m 48, when I only expected to live to be 16 or so. I must be misunderstanding something.
When I have pleasant interactions with people who aren’t Spouse, I feel like “this is the way things are supposed to be! I should ‘make’ this happen more often!” Except that, of course, I have no idea how to ‘make’ it happen more often — that’s the entire problem in a nutshell.
“Logicking myself out of loneliness” does not work, of course, but it doesn’t stop me from trying, night after night after night. Because keeping myself company is better than no company at all.
I go round and round about whether I’m “really” an extrovert who somehow thinks she’s an introvert, or what, but I tend to feel that I’ve just been so starved of company for so long that I have a “backlog” of need that’s a mile long.
I actually do enjoy gobs of time alone. Just… not all of it.
I fought so long and so hard to get names I wanted to be known by, and now that I have them, I have no one who knows them and will use them. I’m invisible in a different way, oh joy oh bliss.
If Spouse is the only person still alive who genuinely enjoys my in-person company, does that mean there’s something wrong with his taste?
Why does “logic” make me feel worse? Ugh ugh ugh.
I should probably go to bed — it’s 3 a.m.