Loneliness Knows Me by Name: The Letter I Never Sent.

If you know me, you know that I’m surrounded by some of the best people ever born on this planet, which makes this even more confusing to me. How can I have all these amazing people in my life and still feel so… lonely?

It’s obviously a rhetorical question. I know exactly why. Me 👋 I’m the reason.

Now, before you say any variation of “don’t be too hard on yourself” to the screen, hear me out.

My mind never shuts down. And I mean NEVER. Honestly. I don’t know if it’s because of my anxiety, my ADHD brain, the way I was brought up, the other labels I’ve been given, or simply because I was born at the end of May and the stars call it being a Gemini. Whatever angle you look at it from, my brain never shuts down.

And that’s a beautiful thing, really. It has taught me so much about myself and about others. I’m always alert, observing, learning, investigating every little thing. Sometimes, I even surprise myself with how good I am at it. I often anticipate people's behaviour before it happens. I can pick up on what people are feeling in seconds. I pay attention. And if you can name a moment when it seemed like I didn’t, trust me, I did. I was probably just too tired to point it out and follow up.

I also happen to care a lot.

When I love you, it doesn’t take much. The fact that you have a heartbeat is mostly enough for me (though, come to think of it, I have a soft spot for those without one, too), and that means I care. And how does care look in my eyes? I’m glad you asked, because I feel like so many people nowadays have forgotten what it means to show genuine care for another person.

Well, mostly, I listen. And I listen to understand. I won’t pull you out of the water just because I want to hold you; I understand that underwater is where you breathe and thrive, and I’ll happily let you stay there. I listen, I ask questions, and I’m interested. Even in the smallest things.

Oh, you met up with them? How was it? Tell me everything. What did you wear? Where did you go? That’s fantastic! What did you have? What did you talk about? How did you feel? No way. Would you do it again? When is it (*mentally marking my calendar to follow up on that)?

And on and on.

I ask because I’m genuinely interested. Because it’s you! Because these little details are part of your life, and I want to know all about them. I want to know what makes you happy, what makes you uncomfortable, what you’ve been thinking about, and what happened on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon.

And, of course, when you have deep, meaningful conversations you want to have, I’ll be there. Fully present. For you.

And you, like most people, probably enjoy talking about yourself. We all do, don't we? I’m sure it feels incredible to be heard.

But I… Well, I need more time.

I can’t take up the space just because you’ve asked me how I’ve been. I can see it all over your face, how eager you are to start spilling everything, to unload it all on me. So I say I’m fine, and you look relieved. Great. Now, with a clear conscience, we can move on to you.

And I know you don’t mean any harm. I know you want to know how I am, too. In your defense, you do ask.

But how do you make me feel? Did you ever ask that?

Because when I say I’m fine, you leave it at that. When I say, “Mm, not much is going on,” you move on. You don’t ask for any further information. And to me, it feels like you don’t want to. Or better yet, like there’s nothing in me that’s interesting or worth hearing. Lovely.

And it’s not that I expect you to act like me. I know we’re different. I know not everyone pays attention to the same things, asks the same questions, or expresses care in the same way.

But… Can you just ask me one more question before we continue talking about you? And if I respond, can you listen and be present? Don’t look away. Don’t say, “So sorry to cut you off, but before I forget, are we still on for Saturday?” Or, “Funny you mentioned that, because that’s exactly what my mom said to me yesterday! Omg, you have to hear this…”
Just be interested in me. Just a little bit. Is that too much to ask?

But you know what? Forget it.

Because even if you did, I probably wouldn’t let you in.

I wouldn’t let you in, even though I need to. Even though I want to. Something in me seems to have a limit, a boundary I can’t quite explain and don’t know how to move past. It feels as though opening up isn’t entirely within my control. I say just enough to fool you and everyone else into thinking you’re “in the know,” but beyond that wall, no one has ever been able to reach me.

In fact, let me warn you: if you do manage to get close enough, you’ll probably be ghosted at some point. And if you don’t manage to get close enough, you’ll probably be ghosted, too. Eventually.

Because this is me. This is how messed up I am.

I want to share. I want to get some of this weight off my chest. I want to let someone see me, to stop carrying everything around inside my head as though I’m the only person who could possibly understand it. I want to know that my journey is real, that I’m real. Because I question that more often than I like to admit. I feel like that tree in the forest. The one that fell and no one heard it.

And yet, I resent you for not looking a little closer, for not noticing that there might be more beneath the surface. For not trying a little harder to find me.

But how can I do that when I’m the one holding the door shut? How can I expect you to see me when I keep making myself invisible?

And even if you did, would I let you stay? I wish I knew.

All I know is that I want to be close to you. I want to share the little things and the big things. I want to feel that you’re curious about me, that my thoughts and experiences are worth exploring. I want to feel like you care, like you want to know me without having to explain why I’m worth knowing. I want you to notice when I have something to say but can’t quite bring myself to say it. I want to be given permission to take up space without feeling that I’m taking something away from you.

And I want to be able to accept all of that when it’s offered, because I don’t know what to do when someone finally does. I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know where to begin. Because it’s so much easier to be the listener. I can know you without having to let you know me. And then, I can run away and start over with strangers.

Damn, I wish I could blame you, but I think my loneliness knows me too well for that. It knows how to make itself comfortable in the space between what I want and what I allow myself to have. It knows when I’m about to open up and how to make me change my mind.

And by now, loneliness is not something I feel. It’s the only way I know.