Alone in a Crowded Room

Alone in a crowded room
Quintessential loneliness
Not always bad
A place of strangers
No one talking to each other
Perhaps better than a room of knowns

Comfort with company that don’t expect anything
An elderly woman approaches to talk
A brief interruption
A welcome interruption
We discuss my book and her book
And then she is gone

I think I like these interludes
Maybe once an hour?
Enough to remind me I am not completely alone
Yet not overwhelming

I don’t know what to do in this room
Write or read? Waste time on my phone?
I rarely feel like I have the concentration for reading.
Writing is pointless without an idea
Messing on my phone adds me to the pack of sheeple

This time writing seems best
No. The least worst
My subject matter comes quickly
I have beaten it to death
Rearing its head frequently
Loneliness caused by depression

Is it depression?
Is it the remnants of depression?
Am I so used to shunning others?
Is it second nature?
I rarely notice any pleasure I gain.
Do I feel any?

It’s a little chilly now
I should have brought a sweater
Maybe it will keep me awake

No sweater I mean

It’s tomorrow
I have tears in my eyes
They won’t flow
I don’t know why
I dreamt last night
My ex, his girlfriend, my former roommate (former friend), some other person I would not hang with
We all lived in the same building

Such a bizarre dream
The group of us sitting, chatting, laughing
But not me
My expressions and actions a mask
I was itching to leave
I knew they were all about to do some fun thing
And I was not

Not comfortable on my own
Not comfortable with others
Possibly the reason for my overindulging
I would have eventually anyway
This discomfort does not lift
Likely never will
It’s ingrained now
Grain is hard to un

I want you
Go away
I can’t – I really can’t
I’ll try
I want to
I don’t want to
Let’s just forget it all

I enjoy good days
Hate shit days
I still don’t know what a good day is
How it’s made
What things happen to make it different?
What makes other days bad?
What is missing?
What is present?

Mostly seeing a friend, a true friend, helps
Sometimes it doesn’t
The effort to get through a conversation
To admit I’m tired, I’m sad
Not too much or I’ll push them away
Most are gone
Most I’ve ignored through paralysis

How can someone have a normal conversation?
About normal things?
When there is no more normal?
When her heart is on fire?
Is exploding?
Spewing blood?
A never-ending geyser?

What if the geyser slows?
Over weeks and months?
And finally stops?
Well, no. Becomes a trickle?
Is the heart so damaged?
So broken?
To let the body repair?

I don’t know
I have no answer
Everyone is different
Their journeys
Their emotions
Their tenacity
Their self-discipline

People dispense advice
Too readily
What worked for them
What they heard works
Both experienced and not
I never take it
I know best
I know worst