lappelduvide-interdite

[lappelduvide-interdite]

So they say to feel a lack of love, you have to be depressed or isolated; and also you have to be cynical to feel comfortable. Turns out I experience none of these things.

This blog is basically a guilty-pleasure of a self-indulging practice-your-English type — a good place to keep my thoughts in (because my skull is clearly not suitable anymore.) It's logical to write here about things that have been bothering me for a long time, so, here it is. One metamodernistic attempt to describe loneliness in a freaking social network.

A few days ago, me and my friend were sitting in a bar; I was drunk enough to talk about true love, but in long thoughtful sentences. The friend was listening, sitting there in her cute warm color shirt and with her eyes attentive and familiar. I quoted a Phoebe Waller-Bridge's work. In particular, the Priest's monologue about a dread and discomfort and unpredictability of love, the spectrum of feelings that you just don't want to go through alone, and if you're lucky, you don't. I said love was a leap of faith. I also said love was a catching the other one in their fall. She nodded sympathetically; but in a minute or two referred to it as a joke about not wanting to jump from anywhere to get laid.

I suppose that's the lot of it. This is the wall I keep smashing in — being oh so close, but on the different pages, still. I know my friend. I know her as a deep-thinking, sensitive, attentive human being that craves true feelings as much as I do. She just has to cover it with sex jokes, because that's how her psyche work; because she's as much broken (and restored with her own power) as I am. I knew she understood me and meant no harm. Still, her words pushed me miles away.

They say I'm smart, but I just overthink; that's the problem of mine. I tend to create complicated versions of simple things and crave for them — is it adequate, wanting to have someone who understands? Is it even possible? Can a person be truly accepted and understood if being a person means using something as imperfect and loose as a language? Despite all the logical conclusions and all the things I want to believe in, I'm starting to suppose the answer to all of this is a no.

But that's the question of being loved. Freeing yourself from a hurtful hope to be romantically loved (in the terms of fairy-tale expectations many of us get in a modern culture) is not refusing the idea of such love or love in general. After all, love is about giving far more than about accepting. That's the other problem.

It's no news people like me are afraid to commit. Terrified, even. But I've learned to suppress this feeling, this instinct of running away or shielding from anyone who's getting close. That's a work of a thought and logic. And logically, I understand all my friends are not mine. A love of a friend is beautiful, but also naturally moderated; some parts of a love in general remain unexplored. It's not necessarily about sex, although it's of course important — being desired, needed and unarmed to the core of emotions and senses. In most cases, friends are not about that. Friends have their loved ones. Friends have their families. In some ways, a friendship is like a parenting — in the end of the day, you always have to be ready to let go.

So, rationally, it's stupid to treat a friend with borderless, blended love; that's just a way of loosing said friend. Being a good friend, after all, is an art of creating space and distance while remaining close and available. The things is, I need something other than that.

They say, if you feel lonely, try committing to your job, hobbies, friends or family. I've got promoted the other night, my book is to be published, my friends are close and fine and my relationships with family are okay. My loneliness doesn't come from unhappiness. It also doesn't come from incapability to built a social connection; I don't usually shy away from people I like. The origin of it is different.

I suppose I just don't know where else to put the love I have inside. It's buzzing and howling, my being human that wants to be loved, to commit and dedicate; but it's the logical thought (the fundamental process of my functioning) that just doesn't allow it all out. The pressure hurts. The conflict of it all is becoming a battle I'm more than ready to lose, because I am exhausted; but I just don't know, to whom.

I'm not depressed or isolated or unloved and unloving in the grand scheme of things. I guess I just yearn for something that I've never had and don't even know if it exists, and that sometimes keeps me up at night.