The truth is, I want to feel loved. I want people to like and accept me. I want to be affirmed as good enough. I want to feel like I belong. I do not want to be alone or feel alone.
I am alone a lot. I feel alone almost as much and sometimes more. I have a lot of defenses against the fact that I don’t feel the feelings I want to feel or that I feel the ones I’d rather not. One of the more clever of these is to put pride to aloneness by ascribing virtues to it like fortitude. A thought flashes through my mind of me living in the country single forever, and before the sadness or fear that accompany this thought can leave a mark on me, pride rushes in and I find myself puffing out my chest as though somehow this is best. As though loneliness will strengthen my character or deepen my spirituality. As though living a life of loneliness is better than being surrounded by love.
I want to believe this. Because it makes me feel better as I sit alone in my apartment typing this after a day of being alone. But it’s crap. So much of it is crap.
The truth is, I want to be loved. So plain, so simple. For all my bluster, I’m just a big pile of insecure goo. I also have a mind that is highly adept at defending/protecting itself.