I am ashamed of my isolation.
It is like a stamp of failure.
I can understand, when I’m in a logical frame of mind, that the circumstances have not been conducive to a bustling buzzing social life, and that maybe I need to give myself a break –
But it’s hard not to take it personally –
And it hurts that the problem might well be me.
So I encourage myself to go out (because that’s how I’ll meet people); and try new things (because that will help me to connect); but it’s hard to shrug off the sense of rejection -
And I try and reassure myself that I am not fundamentally flawed (which is how it’s starting to feel); and that I have things to offer (which I’m beginning to doubt); but the embarrassment always seems to slip in -
Because loneliness comes with a stigma, even if I pretend it feels okay.
And rejection twists in the gut, like a physical pain.
We flock towards popularity, I think, like it’s part of the assessment.
And I assume, therefore, that I’ve failed to meet the grade; and lurk, bow-shouldered, under a heavy kind of shame. And I’ll admit, though it might make me shallow, that I tend to imagine that people with friends have a lot more to offer –
Then someone who struggles with loneliness, like me.
Tags: loneliness, re-connecting, rejection, Stigma, unravelling
I don’t know that I “struggle” with loneliness as much as I’ve come to accept it as my self-imposed fate. That sounds doom and gloom, but I guess I know I could change that situation if I really wanted to. I could say “screw it” and go out every weekend, get dressed up regardless of my sickly exterior and go be the social magnet I used to be, call people instead of hiding behind e-mail, etc. I’m sure I could cure my loneliness, or at least being alone, but I’m not sure that I want to, if that makes sense.
Like you, I’m not sure that I have much to offer right now, other than dealing with my disordered demons and ritualistic actions (keeping me stuck). With all my energy wasted on fighting these urges to exercise, restrict, obsess, plan, etc. I don’t have much left over for “fun,” or what I perceive others want from me. I’m lonely, but just like eating more and sitting on my ass to gain weight, I know what I need to do to change that.
However, I don’t know that I’m ready, so I have no one to blame but myself. Maybe I haven’t found the right group of people yet, as it’s not one-size-fits-all, and I’ll know it when I do. But first I have to put myself out there, be vulnerable and give it a shot.
I think it’s really important to take things one step at a time and also to use the opportunities, despite the fear that they provoke. It does sound like we’re battling similar demons – and also that loneliness isn’t about just being out there: it’s about real connections, and those take time, particularly when an eating disorder gets in the way.
Thanks for sharing this.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately (especially today, which probably means that you’re a spooky mindreader as well as an insightful blogger Melissa). For years I convinced myself that I was meant to be lonely, that I liked my own company, that I didn’t like other people and that I hated socialising. Add the fact that I couldn’t summon up self-esteem and believed that I was waste of time that no one could possibly want to know and ultimately I ended up an outcast.
What I’ve realised – and this has been crucial in going about recovering – is that I hate loneliness and I hate the way that anorexia has shut me up, isolated me and prevented me from engaging with the world around. I’ve discovered that, actually, I like other people. When I’m left on my own I drive myself into doom and gloom – with others around I can get around the ED negativity and come out of myself.
I’ve got a long way to go but by pushing yourself out there you find that you are a part of the world and that you have something to offer. You also find that “Hell is other people” isn’t true. I feel like a failure for still being lonely, but at those points I’ve just got to try and remind myself that I’m not totally alone and that there’s a future ahead and that there’s a world there waiting.
You’re not a failure Melissa. The evidence? We’re reading you’re blog and we think you’re great.
I can completely relate to this (bar the mindreading bit!). Convincing myself I didn’t care; feeling stuck between wanting to join in but knowing that I’d have to face the guilt and fear of food-related stuff; and then realising that, actually, people are pretty amazing and it feels good to begin connecting. At least we’re heading in a good direction, right?!
Thanks for the lovely comment.