Could it be that some of us are meant to be alone? Or is it just that finding that “one” is such a complicated and involved process that some of us aren’t able to put the work in that is required? Perhaps it’s simply that we want what we don’t have, yet are still in that stage of life where we insist we’re content with being alone because we don’t want to seem desperate for someone to love?
Whatever the reason is, I’m sick of being alone. It’s sickening to walk down the street and see a couple holding hands, stopping briefly to kiss before walking onward, occasionally glancing over at their partner. Movies about love bring tears, not only because of the tear-jerker tendencies, but because you sit there and wish it were you. What a horrid feeling that is. The self-inflicting sadness that we bring about does nothing for our egos, let alone our mental health.
I, like many others, have been told the same thing over and over again: “All good things come to those who wait.” Damn it! I’ve waited long enough! Twenty-two years have gone by and I am not getting any younger. At a young age, you’re supposed to “fall in love” and “fall in love again”, make mistakes, learn something new to pass on to future generations, etc.. That time has yet to come for me.
It’s sad enough that I had to grow up at a young age, mentally. Now I’ve just bypassed the “glory” years and all I have look forward to is a midlife crisis. Hell, at this point, my midlife crisis will be when I hit the ripe age of twenty-nine, be it my first or nineteenth time celebrating twenty-nine. Alas, here I am, already pondering what path before me should be traveled.
Do I take the path to my left, leading me down the road of familiarity? Waking up each day, wishing there was someone beside me. Going through the day on autopilot, taking a back seat whenever possible so the focus is away from my troubles. Crying every time I feel a little down. Searching in vain for someone who may or may not exist and wishing that they did so that when the time comes to lay my cheek aside a pillow each night I have someone to look at.
Or there’s the path to the right, leading me down the road of uncertainty? Waking up each day, not knowing who is beside me. Going through the day on high alert, taking the front seat so I can throw my hands in the air and scream, “I’m right here!” Crying every time I realize there is no such thing as stability. Searching for myself in vain, pushing everyone away from me so that when I lay my cheek aside a pillow each night I have a stranger to look at.
Maybe, just maybe, the path for me does not exist. There is no happy medium unless I forge onward, creating a long, winding trail of new beginnings. Waking up each day, not caring if there is someone beside me. Going through the day with my hands on the steering wheel and my eyes scanning for obstacles. Crying every time I make a mistake and learning from it. Searching for the one who makes up for what I lack, the one who doesn’t have to ask, “Is everything okay?”, the one who doesn’t mind crying with me at the happy parts in movies, the one who has created their own path as well.
Yes, that is my choice. I want to wake up in the morning and smile, sipping coffee while pondering about what the day is going to bring me, cooking an omelet for one, or two, or eight. I want to go through the day, ready for whatever comes my way and not giving a damn about what other people may be thinking about me. I want to cry every time I get hurt, every time I see Audrey toss Cat out of the car in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, every time I spend too much money to be able to afford to pay my bills, every time I hear a song that touches something inside of me and learn a new lesson from each of those tears that falls. Searching for whatever brings me happiness and not caring so much about the “when’s” and “where’s”, but more on “me”.