Iceberg

Iceberg – noun
A large floating mass of ice, detached from a glacier and carried out to sea.
 
  
 
If you were to look at my Facebook page, you would see that I have around 200 friends.  Two.  Hundred.  Friends. There are, at this particular moment, 222 to be exact.  I actually know most of these people.  They are people I grew up with, people I have worked with, family members, people I went to church with, people I was in groups with.  There are quite a few others who I met on-line in groups.  Schnauzer groups.  Eating disorder support groups.  Sexual abuse survivor groups.  Then there are a few I’ve become acquainted with because I buy lampworked glass beads from them.  Some of these artists have become friends.  Some are mere acquaintances.   But all told, over the course of my life, I’ve come to know, in some sense of the word, 222 people who are on Facebook who have connected with me in some way.
 
That’s a lot of people for someone who is completely isolated.
 
Because the reality is, all of my friends live in my computer.  They have lives.  They actually see other people face-to-face.  They go to games, concerts, out to eat, to the park, to kid’s activities, to church…they connect in some way beyond the computer.  I go to work, come home, take care of my dogs, play with my dogs, check in on Facebook, go to bed, wake up, take care of my dogs, go to work, come home…day after day after day after day.  I am alone.  I am an iceberg.
 
Why do I say that I’m an iceberg?  Well, because.  Icebergs are fairly solitary entities.  Detached from the glacier.  Broken off and are disconnected from all others.  They are found far at sea, floating in a lonely existence, avoided by all.  And big portion of who they are is also hidden away, below the surface, beneath  deep waters.  Plus they are cold. 
 
I think I am a little cold.  I don’t like this because I used to be very tender-hearted.  But I have hardened myself over the course of my life as I’ve attempted to survive all the pain.  It has taken a toll.  So detached, hidden away, somewhat cold.  I hide the unacceptable me deep inside…as much as is possible.  There’s a great deal more to me than what most people see.  Being like this does not make me happy.  But  I relate.  I don’t like it, but it fits.
 
Being isolated does things to a person.  Having all your friends live in the computer does things to you.  Negative things.  It sucks the life right out of living.  And living without life is gruesome.  Talk about a cold world.  Lonely. Empty.  Dark.  Meaningless.  Just drifting through.  With all this baggage dragging me down, hidden deep below; far within.  An iceberg.
 
I have been drifting at sea for a long time.  I am very, very weary of being alone.  I don’t want to be an iceberg.  I don’t want to be so isolated.  Texting, posting on Facebook and combing through my news feed, following people on Twitter, watching board on Pinterest…it’s all fun and it’s all good and it’s far better than nothing.  But an electronic (((hug))) is not nearly as good as a real one.  And a ❤ isn’t as special as someone who reaches out and touches you because they have heard what you said and they connect with you emotionally, intellectually and physically.   I’m thankful for all 222 of the people I’m connected with on Facebook.  Still, sharing 50 things you never knew about me in a posted note isn’t the same as having a conversation.  And though I love my dogs with all of my heart, while they keep me going by giving me a reason to wake up every morning, it’s not the same as having a real, live person to interact with.  It’s good.  I’m grateful.  But I’m still empty.
 
When icebergs melt, they become one with the ocean around them.
 
I am praying to be released from the icy walls of this massive prison that keeps me isolated.   I am praying to melt.  I am praying for friends who don’t exist only in my computer.
 

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