#35: Why the aloneness of it all?
I can’t quite put my finger on it actually.
It’s always sort of been like that. Ever since — well, ever since I left Hamilton.
The weird thing about it is that I’m an extrovert. And the most laymen of explanations of extroverts is that they draw their energy from others. That is also true for me.
So why have I time and again thrust myself into circumstances which necessitate long stretches of isolation? It’s Saturday morning now, and I have not spoken — out loud — to another human being in six days. Why?
Why the fucking aloneness of it all, Shayan?
Many years ago, during the early years of university, as the different facets of my personality — creative, erudite, talkative, philosophical, selfish, sarcastic, uncompromising, stubborn — began to take shape, I met someone who really understood who I was. They liked me as a person. It was exhilarating to be able to be yourself and have someone encourage it, support it, enjoy it.
Since the implosion of that relationship, I have spent the rest of my life in a constant struggle between how I would like to act, and how others believe I ought to be acting. I was never able to find (never is a strong word, and it is not fair; I have met some people) someone who really just enjoyed me for who I was, without wanting me to be different, or to change.
That’s why I’ve moved so many times.
That’s why the aloneness of it all.
