He wrote a page-long vent post, then erased it.
OK, why lie. I wrote a page-long vent post, and then erased it. No, it’s not an identity crisis. It’s denial. Yes, I am working on it.
I wrote a page-long post on how I felt about solitary existence in the crowded room in a house in a crowded city. That’s not just one day. Or, if it is, it lasts an eternity. No, I am not always discontent and lonely. Sometimes… sometimes it is the kind of being alone that is not loneliness. You know? You are alone, but as Henry Rollins said, you don’t have to be lonely. You are content with being alone, because alone you can do things that you cannot do while being around others.
And although this is very cool and positive thought, still there is that time when the content part ends and I start feeling a desperate need to be with someone, make them listen, help them be heard.
I can play my video games for over six hours in a row, but then I take my dog for a walk and I look at the many apartment buildings in the area, and someone’s windows are still lit at 2am and I wonder, What are they doing? Are they alone? Crying? Drinking? Mourning? Playing a video game? Do they need someone? And if they do, how can I help? I can’t. I tell myself I can’t unless they reach out. And then I get myself thinking farther and I feel like I have several good lines for a new story, and so I walk the dog back home and get writing.
And that’s a good-alone-time to do writing when no one is around and it works just perfect.
It worked perfectly for him to work out for an hour in the middle of the night, listening to some heavy metal and in the end, he felt sore, yes, but also strangely rested, like he dropped a weight off his shoulders, while, in fact he did almost the opposite.
OK, why lie again. It worked perfectly for me to work out for an hour or so in the middle of the night, listening to some heavy metal and in the end, I felt sore, but also strangely rested, and I felt like being alone, and wanting to speak to someone or hear another person’s story was no longer a need for me. I just wanted to lie on my back on the floor and listen to silence. Listen to the air, like Henry said. I required nothing else. I just existed, and it felt amazing. My heart rate was dropping from rushing, my leg muscles were still throbbing, and the sweat was drying up on my back and neck, and I didn’t want anything. Just being. Alone, not lonely. I felt like I want this sensation to last for ages.
Then next day I feel wonderful crazy after having chugged down a bunch of coffee, now walking down the street, not known to anyone, ideas popping up in my head like pop-corn cooked in a microwave, and I couldn’t care less about world’s problems, or connections, or disintegration, or even air. Yeah, air. I don’t think about breathing for about 99% of the time. I only appreciate it when I am running out of it. It’s no longer a Bunch of Coffee Walk time. It is “I don’t care, y’all!” time. I am not lonely. I don’t care for word “solitary” and I don’t have time to play solitaire either. I am not interested if you need to talk, or you’re crying, or mourning and drinking. I’m in a crowd of people, but I’m alone. I’m not lost, but I’m gone.
the image was copied from https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/lonely-you-re-not-alone-america-s-young-people-are-ncna945446 thanks.