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WILD THINGS

My promise to myself is that when I talk about my life, I’m not going to make it sound better or worse than it is. That’s subjective, anyway: what’s good or bad to you. I’m going to talk about it how I feel it, though try to leave my shame at the door. That’s something we’re all better off without: shame. You know that thing they say when they mean it badly: that girl has no shame! I want to be like that. Shameless, using judgment only when it’s necessary, not prematurely—not using self-judgement as an indicator of whether or not I should act. I’m going through a lonely period again. I say it like I’ve fallen off the wagon of “completeness.” I’ve been lonely for as long as I can remember, unfortunately am one of those people, in my history, who feel lonely even around others—standing still in a moving scene. After enough of this (failure to properly adjust to company and connection), you become a solo bird, and you drink at solo lakes. Well okay. What makes this period a little tougher than others is that I no longer believe the loneliness will miraculously vanish at “the next stage” like going to school or joining a club or getting a job, or that any one person can enter into my line of vision, or my heart, and render loneliness obsolete. My personal loneliness is down to a barrier I’ve put up, a certain durable fence I once needed to survive. And I just know it’ll kill me to get rid of it. Maybe feel good eventually, but at first just kill me, genuinely kill me to be so open. ll