I've written about this before. This theme surely crept in here, but I don't know if I managed to do it justice. If life is a series of recurring themes, I have this one underlying much of what I do and much of what I feel... a constant companion that doesn't have a name, that pricks me and pesters me. That on days like today can make me what to yell or cry.
I need to be alone. I know that sounds so Garbo, but it's so true. And this need of mine to be in my own head, to gaze at my own thoughts, to revel in nothing, makes me feel odd and guilty. Odd because the image I see of everyone else around me is alien. I often feel inept at this business of life... being a mother, wife, friend, daughter. Guilty because I often feel unable to be what those around me are so easily able to be for me.
Do other mothers really get as overwhelmed and tired of their beautiful children as I do? Probably. At least I hope so.
Do other wives neglect their adoring husbands as I do? Forgetting to make dinner? Wishing for an evening alone in front of the television? I think so... I hope so...
Do other friends sometimes find the business of friendship tiresome and impossible do organize? Do they take forever to return e-mails and phone calls? Do they forget birthdays? Of course they do... right?
So what's this feeling I have? This feeling that my innermost urge to be alone is wrong? Is abnormal? Is just a bit aberrant?
I'm not sure. Maybe I am the ultimate narcissist, madly in love with my own company. So much so that no one else can come close. Maybe I am one of those self-absorbed artists, sadly lacking in social skills. Maybe I am ultimately terribly, maddeningly shy at heart, and can't quite find a way to show my true face. Maybe I have somehow found nirvana, and lack for nothing.
I can only wonder.
I jotted this post down after a long, hard day battling with my inner demons. It's not proofread or well thought through, but it's true to my state of mind tonight, to be taken as is.