The more I stare at this page the more I can’t help but wonder why I’m not typing. I’ve got plenty of things to say, and many reasons to say them. But has talking ever got me where I wanted to be, hell, where I needed to be? No. it has not. More often than not my writings have betrayed me, giving an adverse affect to what I intended. But I guess you could say I have a muse… and loneliness is such good company.

I can ask it whatever I want and it always gives me the answers I need or want to hear. I can talk mindlessly to it and it listens intently. I can even cry to it, sometimes shielded by a wall of water from the shower, but I can. And it doesn’t say stop or grow up. Loneliness is very comforting, especially mine. Because deep down, I think I caused it for myself.

I’m not a very good person. I’ve done things I regret, said things I now despise, acted like a complete imbecile… and yet people still tried to convince me that they’re there… I drove them away. I didn’t want to hurt anyone with who I am and yet… I hurt them by pretending I didn’t care that they did. But… I did care.

I cared a whole lot. All those people I know, or knew, I cared ever so much. And  somewhere in me I still find time every day to think about each one and wonder what they are doing, how they are, anything, everything. No,  I won’t pick up the phone. No, I won’t write a letter (believe me I’ve tried. They’re all tucked away unsent). No I won’t try to get back in contact because how do they know I won’t disappear again. And maybe for a longer period of time this go ‘round.

A lot of people I regret losing, but there was no other way for me to live what I called a life. Hurting them hurt me, and I guess I was selfish because I didn’t want to hurt me.

My whole life I’ve preached against liars, stealers, rule breakers, delinquency… In some cases I turned hypocrite, but in those instances my actions were justified. I’ve never lied to anyone in my entire teenage and adult life. Sometimes I wish I had, but I didn’t. And sometimes I made a big deal over something so insignificant because I needed attention.

Most times, though, the illness I was born with (along with many other members of my family, God bless them) got in my way. I couldn’t express myself fully, and I couldn’t control my emotions, and I realize now, in the majority of those cases, I did so to protect others. I figured if I drove them away they wouldn’t be harmed. If I had no one, no one would be hurt by me.

And still, now, I find myself slowly slipping into that old habit. I’ve very trusting, maybe sometimes too trusting, and keeping everyone at an arm’s length is hard. But I do still have people from that “stage” I’m going to call it. And I still have people I could call up out of the blue and it would be like no time has passed. And I have those that I’m too afraid to call because I’m apprehensive about their new lives. The last kind of people… I sort have been meaning to dial up just for ha-ha’s… and maybe to prove I had nothing to be afraid of.