Too much alone time

I think that there are two types of people: people that need people, and the ones that don’t. I need people. As much as I can, I pretend to not need people. I pretend that I’m fine alone and sometimes I can even convince myself of it, but it’s not true. I need, I want, I fear people being in my life. I need someone to hold me up when things get hard. I want someone to be with me and love exactly everything I am. And I fear all those things that I need and want because they’re not permanent. People have legs and the ability to walk out of your life as easily as they fell into it.

Sometimes I feel like I’m sitting at the bottom of a well. It’s dry and narrow and dirty and there is only enough room for me to sit, alone. All of the friends and family I have are in the process of climbing back up the walls of the well. The people I feel closest to are near me, near the bottom. There are people I love that have one leg over the top of the wall. They shout down to me about how beautiful it is on the surface. How there is room for all of my friends and family to hold hands and sit together. How the sun shines and flowers bloom and life is good on the surface. I listen to them. I want to go to the surface and I want sun and sitting with people I love. Then I cry because I know that I will never leave my well. Because leaving would meaning climbing up those walls. I could cut my hand. I could fall. I could break my leg and it’d hurt. I’ve seen people get hurt so often that I can’t seem to move without those thoughts in my head.

Heather has had great loves. I don’t mean great people or loves that were sublimely perfect. I mean that she let herself love people and put herself out there. She trusted, she hoped for things, and I could see the passion in her eyes. And even when she got hurt, she got back up and tried again. She never quit just because of the chance that things might not be great. Her love was what was great. She uses her whole heart and I don’t know why I can’t.

But it’s more than love. I feel like I push people away. I know I do. I think I know what I’m trying to do. I’m pushing and pushing because I want someone to push back. I want someone to love me enough to be with me whether I tell them I need it or not. I just want someone to want to be with me. Someone that will fight me to keep me. I don’t want to be someone’s friend, someone’s girlfriend because I want it. I want to be wanted in the way that I want people. I need someone to be beside me when things get hard, to run their fingers through my hair, to whisper softly, to hug me, to stay even through the crying, the fat days, the crazy, the cheerfulness, my obsessions, the good days and the bad.

I feel like I’m standing and looking at the wall but I can’t lift my arm. I can’t grab it and climb. Everyone else figured out how to get out and I’m looking at the rocks around not knowing where to start. I want out but I need someone to reach their hand down. I need someone to help me out. But I can’t ask for help. All I can do is stand at the bottom and wait for someone to realize that I want up too. I want out.