Sunday, April 8, 2007

Lonely is as loney does

I wonder why it is that I never feel "lonely" until I go out in public? There was a time when I was afraid to be alone, but not anymore. In fact, I actually enjoy living alone. I appreciate the opportunity to decorate in a way that suits my tastes, I'm glad I can cook, clean, watch tv, or sleep (or not) whenever I please. I like not having to be (or not be) for the sake of accommodating another person.

That said, I know that social isolation and bipolar disorder (particularly during depressed episodes) do not mix, so I really do try to maintain contact with other people. But when I do, something strange and painful happens. It is the very act of seeking to minimize my aloneness that makes me feel alone the most.

When I'm by myself, there's no one to compare myself with, but when I'm out, I'm constantly reminded of the human connections that nearly everyone around me seems to have. Intellectually, I know that every couple isn't blissfully in love, and every family isn't like the Cleavers or the Huxtables, but they appear that way to me. I know that envy is a very ugly character trait, but I often find myself envious of couples who remain happily married for long periods of time. I envy the memories they've created through the years and I envy the plans they share for their future. I envy those who have chosen their partners wisely, or at least committed to the partners they chose. I envy those whose partners chose to stick by them, even through the bad times.

Because being "in love" is my most significant trigger, it is my Achilles heel. I can see rather clearly now how most of my hypomanic periods involved the start of a new relationship - and many of my most depressed periods involved the ending of a relationship, which in turn lead to another period of hypomania. I can see that I made very poor choices and for that reason, the outcome of those relationships was assured - they were doomed from the start. I planted so many seeds, but none in fertile soil.

The deep dark loneliness I feel now is not grief over the loss of a particular relationship and it's not an unfulfilled desire to be in a romantic relationship. It's more of a "who would mourn my loss if I died?" sort of sadness. I have a small but strong support network, my mother, my daughter, my aunt and a few close friends, but I know I sit at the edges of their busy and fulfilled lives. Of course I know that Jesus loves me, and for that I am eternally grateful, but I can't exactly invite him over to play Scrabble on a lonely Friday night.

As big as this hole in my heart was before my diagnosis, it seems to have grown even bigger since then. What would fill it? I have no idea... But I think David Foster Wallace had it right when he said "We're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?"

No comments: