I have had nothing but time to think about all of the relationships I have had in my life.
Platonic.
Romantic.
Current.
And, I’ve come to a conclusion.
I am suffering from this never-ending feeling of solitude.
Relationships feel so one-sided; so incomplete. So much so that I feel like I genuinely exist in my imagination. That my needs being met only happen in dreams, simulations like the Sims, or through the stories I write and read. Have you ever felt so much in solitude that you have convinced yourself that what you want is not for you? That things just weren’t meant to be? That there’s no way sh*t could be sweet?
I’ve been struggling with being present. With not dissociating. Because if I truly sit in it, this feeling will engulf me. It is too much of a burden, this constant feeling of solitude.
I am in a relationship with solitude and I don’t like it.
It feels like a void growing more and more every day. Getting darker and darker, and there’s nothing that I can do about it.
That’s not true.
I can.
I just won’t,
for fear of never-ending guilt.
never-ending resentment.
never-ending fear.
never-ending solitude.
I hate this for me. I deserve more, although I struggle with the idea that that’s true.
There is nothing that solitude truly gives me, aside from heartache at 1AM and a clogged nostril.
I’m tired of crying over this. How did I get here? When did my life decisions revolve around solitude? I’ve been trying to write for months now. I can barely get through a book. I move through my daily life robotically, leaving no room to honestly sit with everything. I’m starting to realize that selfishness isn’t truly selfish unless it’s through bad intent; ill will, if you will.
Choosing yourself is embracing solitude. Letting solitude go. Letting co-dependency go. Letting false hope, low boundaries, and half-truths go.
I’m tired of being second, third, tenth… to everything.
An afterthought.
The latter.
In solitude.
It feels good until it doesn’t.
Til the Niagara Falls-branded raincoat flies,
Ella.
The Daily Ella 