The Lonely Fog
I’ve been lonely lately. I think it’s because I’ve been keeping some secrets. They haven’t been deep, dark secrets and they haven’t been cruel or self-destructive. But, for my own good there were some things that I wasn’t allowed to tell certain people.
A pretty large group of people in fact.
And it twisted me up in ways that I wasn’t prepared for. When I decided to keep this secret it didn’t seem like a big deal. I mean, I could still talk to my family and close friends about this thing. But having something I had to be careful to hold back from a certain group made me oddly withholding of other thoughts and emotions.
And then there was this wall.
Suddenly I stopped telling anyone much of anything. I was terse and short and to-the-point in almost all of my conversations. And, s you may have guessed, that’s just not like me. I couldn’t blog because all I could think about when I sat down in front of the computer was this secret that I couldn’t tell. Well, writing about the secret on my blog would be wildly inappropriate.
Especially since I started learning about some people who read my blog who had never told me about it before. And suddenly I was scared that my secret would get all over town and the group I was hiding from would know.
All of that coupled with the fact that I’ve been working so many hours and been a little cut off socially has had me very lonely. And wanting of a confidant. A partner. A deep, emotional relationship. I wanted someone to come home to who I could bounce all of my ideas and emotions off of. (And, honestly, someone who could rub my shoulders.)
I miss having a best friend and lover all wrapped up into one. Someone who sees the things about me that I miss and gently lets me know what they are. I miss arms and legs and sheets all wrapped together. And the laughs and the sighs and him letting me cry — whomever “he” is.
And it’s been a weight like a fog on my chest in the past few weeks. And I thought it might go away once the secret was out — and now it is — but the fog remains. The heavy wet weight that I breathe out when I’m alone. When I’m lonely. And it makes me want to cry, but I want someone to see me cry.
Just someone in it with me. Someone invested in my life as deeply as his own who will tell me that everything is going to work out. Even though I know it’s going to work out. I know. But I just want him to tell me.