I am a responsible twenty-something who doesn’t need anyone’s help. I can take care of myself.
That’s why I feel like a complete hypocrite when I admit that I hate being alone.
I’m not talking about brief bursts of solitude. I like working alone. I like having peace and quiet as I’m reading a book. I like my alone time after a long day.
But I don’t want to be alone too much. I don’t want to be alone all of the time.
Being surrounded by a large group of people zaps my energy since I consider myself an introvert, but being around one person who makes me feel at home sounds like heaven.
I just want one person who will make me feel safe when I’m wrapped in their arms. One person who will motivate me to try again when I feel like giving up. One person who will make me laugh during the darkest days of my life.
Even though I’m an independent woman who doesn’t need a relationship to feel fulfilled, the truth is that I don’t want to fall asleep alone. I want someone beside me, holding me tight, comforting me when I jolt awake from nightmares.
I don’t want to eat alone every single morning. I want someone sitting at the other side of the table, talking to me about how work went yesterday and how delicious the food tastes. I want someone to fill the silence so I don’t go crazy listening to my own thoughts.
Even though I can technically take care of myself, I secretly don’t want to live alone. I want someone to greet me when I walk through the door, someone to watch TV alongside, someone who will listen when I babble about my stressful day. I want someone to keep me company so I never feel isolated.
I hate being alone because it gives me too much time to think. My brain goes into overdrive, stressing about things that haven’t even happened yet. The more time I have to myself, the more time I have to overanalyze.
It’s tiring to attached and detached myself from people surrounding me because sometimes I need them, sometimes I don’t. And that’s the irony of it.