“…In my hour of need
I truly am indeed
Alone again, naturally
It seems to me that
there are more hearts
broken in the world
that can’t be mended
What do we do? What do we do?“
–Gilbert O’Sullivan – Alone Again (Naturally)–
In a couple of weekends, many of us who are fortunate enough to be off for Good Friday will have a holiday weekend. A time when family and friends get together. Share. Connect. Relax. Enjoy. At least, that’s what genuine friends and healthy family members do to celebrate a holiday. Close family. Close friends. It is a time to celebrate. Together.
But I’m going to be alone. Again. Life happens all around me. Not with me. Not in me.
Most of my time after work is spent sitting on the couch with my dogs on my lap. I am their bed. Their protector. I give them warmth. They snuggle their noses under my hand and breathe heavily. They keep me company and I am glad they are with me. But I am still very alone. Again. Naturally. Just me and the dogs.
I thank God for the dogs.
The TV plays endlessly. I’m not watching. Or even listening; not really. It’s noise. To keep me company. To chase away the silence. To distract me from the emptiness.
I feel so isolated. So unwanted. Life holds no meaning without connectedness.
The upcoming holiday is one that prompts us to reflect. To reflect on the past. To be grateful. I remember. But I do not want to remember.
The past holds no appeal. It holds only pain and sadness. Abuse. Rejection. Brokenness. There is no hope there. The past is the place of my demise. The past is where I was destroyed. Fractured. Fragmented. Ground to dust.
But the future doesn’t hold hope either. Only the promise of more of the same. More rejection. More pain. More isolation. More destruction. More silence and emptiness.
I fought it. I fought this fate. But fate was not intimidated by me, nor impressed with my efforts to escape. My past became my future became my past became my future. A river with swift and dangerous currents that flow where they want. Eroding the ground where I stand. The currents sweep my feet out from under me and carry me away.
I absently listen to the television playing endlessly. Background noise. I need the background noise. Distraction.
It has been rainy and it is predicted to be wet and gloomy over the holiday weekend. I have been in this place before too many times. I will watch the water painting rivulets down each window pane, my vision distorted; blurred. I will try not to think about the emptiness of my life. I will try to blur reality. I will try to convince myself that what is isn’t. But running takes energy and I’m almost completely drained.
I’ve been alone. For too many days. For too many years. For too may decades. It has been raining. For too many days. For too many weeks. I’ve been in pain. For too many days and for too many long, sleepless nights.
They say more storms are coming. Wind. Violent weather. My whole life has been a violent storm. I have been alone through too many violent storms. I am weary of the storms. Of being battered and beaten by them. I don’t know how many more storms I can face…alone.
Alone. As I have been nearly every day of my life. Alone. In a vast universe. A dot. Nothing. Alone.
Life holds no meaning. My life seems so empty…because it is empty. I have tried to fill it up. I have tried in vain. My life, like the coming holiday, is hollow. I am drowning in endless emptiness. Desolate.
I talk in the silence to cover it with my words. I turn on the TV. I talk to my dogs. I make noise to drive away the meaninglessness. But nothing works. Nothing. I pretend. I ignore. I discard reality. Deny. But in spite of my pretense, there is one fact I can’t escape. I am alone again. As always. I am alone and disconnected.
Alone again. Naturally.
I dance to the radio to make myself move. To force my limbs to life. I dance alone as my dogs watch me, amused by my wild contortions and seeming madness. They grab their toys and run around me, shaking them viciously, happily squeaking squeakers. I dance on. Alone in the midst of their joy. I twirl. Alone.
Beating back the silence. Trying to beat back the silence. Always trying to escape the silence. And the emptiness. Always trying to fill this yawning void that can’t be filled.
Alone again, naturally.