Competitive Depression Pt. 2 - Loneliness

I miss liquor.
Not enough to start drinking again, but I miss the feeling that a new bottle of Vodka gave me- the solace of knowing that in a short time I'd be so drunk I'd forget how lonely and unhappy I was.
If I needed human company, it wasn't that hard to find- the world is full of lonely drunks. Go to the local bar three nights in a row- you will see the same faces all three nights. They aren't bad people- maybe- but they are lonely and miserable and if you want to be like them, well, that invitation is always open.

C'mon in, sit and sip , rest in pieces....

But all that's different now that I'm sober.

Sort of.

There's a giant hole in me that used to be filled with beer and drugs. I didn't even know that hole was there until I drained all the old poisons out of it- but it's there alright.

The problem is, I don't know what is supposed to go in that hole.

Is that where people keep their happy relationships?

I don't know. I've never had a happy relationship. Just holes for me, thank you very much, Herr Freud.

Maybe this hole is where people keep God.

I wouldn't know about that- I'm not the faithful sort. When I think of God and holes, I think of bullet-holes in babies who get caught in the cross-fire between religous lunatics who see nothing wrong in killing the infidels- the infidels being everyone else. I see the Dark Ages, a period of physical suffering and intellectual stagnation forced on the world by that most obsolete of institutions, the Roman Catholic Church. I think of Jesus, who certainly must have thought "why can't we just get along?" as the Centurions put holes in places where there shouldn't be holes.

I know there's Art in this hole, but when I try to fill it, the Art tends to fall into the hole and vanish, leaving a shadow of an idea and a vague longing for what could have been. What might have been...if things were different. If. Only.
One day, perhaps I will realize that some things are better kept on a shelf than in a hole, but for now I don't have any shelves.

I don't even have a wall strong enough to support a shelf.
My walls can barely support paint.

That's when that old son-of a-bitch Loneliness starts acting up. Some people have imaginary friends to help avoid Loneliness- not me.

I have imaginary enemies- except they aren't imaginary. They live inside of me and they will gladly allow me to destroy myself if I let them.

So I don't let them.
Pretty easy , huh?

If it's so easy, why am I so tired - exhausted - all the time?

It's the fighting. War is everywhere- why shouldn't I be at war with myself? Everyone's fighting each other, but I'm so lonely I don't even have anyone to fight- except myself.

It's not hopeless. I know I can make someone else happy- if only for a moment- and that is something very valuable to me.
Perhaps I can learn something from those moments and somehow stretch it into a day, a week- even a new lifetime- and that someone will choose to be with me, not because we are miserable together, but because we draw happiness and strength from each other.

You mess with one of us, you mess with both of us. We are on the same side.

Except there is no we. Yet.

So maybe there's more to love than the filling of holes ( shut up, Sigmund)- maybe there's things like:

-Trust
-Loyalty
-Sharing
-Safety

I don't know.
I'm sure that that my list is incomplete.

Incomplete is Lonely's best friend.