I want tears, just not what comes with them.
Feeling the fear.
The fear of loneliness.
I want touch and connection and to feel passion and to know through tangible attention that I am loved.
It's not enough to tell my mind that I'm gonna be okay.
It's not enough to tell my mind I'm one of the lucky ones.
My heart is still hungry.
I'm an adult. I get it. I study it. We're wired different. I believe it. We're each uniquely and wonderfully made.
We're each fighting our own battle. And my battle is not yours. But yours is not mine. And I need to talk about mine.
I need to talk about what it's like to be an extroverted feeler that has turned off so many people and felt rejected because I've been like this all my life.
Extroverted feelers get this. And that's the killer. Because we're sometimes the creatives, the artists, and been called the unstable. "Write drunk, edit sober," that famous writer said. You know that one that had four wives, but won the Pulitzer and the Nobel Prize for literature? Yeah, him. The younger ones might have it easier. They understand blurry lines, the need for art. They're still young enough for emotions to be okay.
I, however, am scared of living alone all. the. time.
I am scared I don't have what it takes in our culture and society that does not honor lament.
I am scared of not doing it right all the time. Because I have known so much rule-following.
It was the way I was raised. It's about the time of history when I was born. It's the way my religion has done things my whole life. It's the way the new paradigm is constantly being judged by those I want to trust.
I believe in the power of art to heal. I believe in the power of those who need to wear our hearts on our sleeves. But for whatever reason...in my story...the most important people in my life on a day-to-day basis are not wired this way. And I ache for more.
I am hungry all the time. It shows in the extra 30 pounds my personality put on at mid-life.
I am not there yet. I want to say it doesn't matter. How I look doesn't matter. What I make doesn't matter. What I'm recognized for doesn't matter. That I need to cry often and not alone doesn't matter. Oh, but it does. It does so much.
A new job tomorrow.
Another introverted thinker to try and connect with.
Here I go.
You? I get it. You are welcome here.