Alone In A Crowd

One of the biggest things I struggle with on a day-to-day basis is the feeling that without the effort I put in, nobody would notice if I were to just wander off from a conversation which is happening around me. This is clearly severely exaggerated, as I am also told regularly that I am valued and loved, but it’s hard to see that when the brain is left to idle, or when conversation is flowing about as well as the pitch drop experiment.

I hate the notes you write to me
The verses you recite to me
Your conversation: flowing like glue

…

I hate the way you lie, honest I do
Outside of that, I love you

Irving Berlin, “Outside of that, I love you”

Without some sort of purpose, or a lot of effort, it’s difficult to switch off the part of my brain which loves to analyze everything I say. There is a constant web of connections being spun, and a constant nagging voice that nobody really cares for anything I say, so why bother. In addition, at the moment, everything is just too much: too much noise made too loudly, too much being drunk, too much being said. My usual response to this is to back away, find a nice corner, and fill my head with the music I know I can sing along to to distract the sad part of my brain. On multiple occasions lately, I’ve managed this without anyone noticing.
So much for not being alone.

There’s also now a fear of small talk. The simple, and perfectly reasonable, question of “How are you?” can only be met with either a non-committal noise of general contentment, which is at best unhelpful and at worst covering for a whole host of issues, or a very long description of exactly how I feel; nobody needs the latter in their life, and it often isn’t situation appropriate.

The result is it’s impossible to start a conversation, impossible to continue one once started, and ever so easy to instead self-isolate. I spend my life lying about how I am, then hating myself for it. I feel no shame for the state of my mental health, nor most of the causes thereof. Being intensely private about what happens in my head, however, is the protection strategy which I’ve relied upon to this stage in life. I’m often astonished when I read these back to see quite how heavily I rely on carefully chosen euphemism to disguise serious problems.

Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.

“Ratatouille”

I feel useless. I’m not progressing in life. My university work is deteriorating. I can’t handle a simple conversation on everything and anything. With the empathetic response thoroughly suppressed for my safety, I miss obvious signs of hurt. I drift from day to day feeling desperately alone surrounded by people, but clinging onto the ever thinning hope that my great artist will come out of the woodwork to fix everything by just being there. Desire for proactivity in this regard has only led to negative consequences and zero action. When I ask for help, none comes.

They that go down to the sea in ships : and occupy their business in great waters;
These men see the works of the Lord : and his wonders in the deep.
For at his word the stormy wind ariseth : which lifteth up the waves thereof.
They are carried up to the heaven, and down again to the deep : their soul melteth away because of the trouble.
They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man : and are at their wits’ end.
So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble : he delivereth them out of their distress.
For he maketh the storm to cease : so that the waves thereof are still.
Then are they glad, because they are at rest : and so he bringeth them unto the haven where they would be.

Psalm 107:23-30, Book of Common Prayer

I don’t have the fallback of belief.
I don’t have the fallback of love.
At the end of the day, I can’t even trust myself to act consistently in my best interest. I write this while sitting in “companionable silence” with people whom I’d love to get to know better, but simply cannot work myself into getting started. Instead I write to myself, and complain of my distress, hoping for deliverance to come from nowhere.
Good grief, I’m a mess.
Oh, and now I’m alone again.