Lonely & Wonderful

"I am the loneliest most wonderful woman you will ever meet.  I will make you laugh, and feel great about yourself. Yet deep down, I don't know how to do it for myself."

If you meet me, as a client, you will think I am so happy, and poised, and confident, and talented and knowledgeable.  You will wonder how I could be alone, or single, or not making millions of dollars... it is because I have been shown, I am not worth anyone's time.  Now, before you assume that I feel I am not worthy, on the contrary.  I KNOW I am worthy.  I have people that I am friendly with, but I have no friends.  No one hangs out with me, no one invites me out.  No one says "hey a bunch of us are meeting here, it would be amazing if you joined us."  I have tried to organize gatherings, to no avail.  I have invited work colleagues for drinks with an interest until a date is selected, then no one is available.  And then no other date is made.  I have gone out of my way to ensure that no one has to feel the way I do.  I am giving, and loving and passionate - Yet the only people who know live in other countries or continents.  My best friends are the 5 felines who live with me.  I have never been in a loving relationship that wasn't 1 sided.  And no man has ever adored me so much so as to go out of his way to make me feel special.  My local friends don't call, or text or even show up on my social media.

I AM AN EMPTY VESSEL

No one sees me.

My apartment is a mess cause I don't have the will to clean it, though I try daily to.  I have started to try to wear make up on most days just to ensure that I look somewhat attractive to others.  I have suffered depression but what I really suffer is from a lack of connection.  I try not to wear my pain on my sleeve cause a weeping 40 something year old is pathetic.  I am exercising, eating better, utilizing more positive self talk and yet... these feelings of woe - of paralyzing loneliness affect me.  I am in enamored with a man, who I cannot express my feelings to (it's complicated), I have a mother who adores me to know end who it would tear her heart to know I feel like this.  But I do.  As much as I bury it, it is there.  What do I want?  I want people to actively let me know that I am valued, that I matter in their life.  I want them to keep asking me to go out until I finally do  I want to stop only being down on Sundays, and I want to live my fucking life - outside!  I want to meet people who stay in my life, who actively care about what my thoughts are.  Who can have intelligent conversations with me and move my soul.  I am trapped in an undesirable body, so that keeps a lot of people away - and to top it off, most days, I don't give a fuck to dress well.

I know this time it is not SAD as I was fine yesterday - fine this week - then suddenly, like a transport truck hit me - a tsunami of emotional sorrow hits me.  And the rawness of just how alone I feel comes.  I don't know how many people in my situation feel this way - but I am sharing this now.  This is my soul.

I live in a wasteland of zombies - too attached to their electronic devices.  Too scared to make eye contact or smile.  My resting bitch face is becoming tiresome... and I want to smile!  I want to feel so overjoyed that when I enter a room, I am not faking it.  I want people to see me.  I want a man to ask me out to dinner and not then go MIA when I accept and want to make plans.  I want the man who I adore currently to know how I feel, yet I fear telling him... cause I don't know if it is real, or just perceived in a false perspective.  So I say nothing... cause really - what would it do?  I have risked before, and been left by the wayside - so now, I risk nothing.  I say nothing.  I just hope that all of the writings of eroticism allure him and he let's me know that he knows how I feel, and it is either ok, or he feels the same.  I don't wish to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

My days are spent hiding.  Watching TV shows and living vicariously through other people and characters.  I have no life, I have an existence.  I feel more comfortable dropping $1400 on a vacation in a foreign country than to drop $20 on a cover charge to meet up with people who don't get me.  Maybe I am pathetic, maybe I am to be sad and lonely all of the days of my life... but on days like this, I want it all to end.  I want to die - yet I am too cowardly to end my life.  If it were not for my five felines, I swear I would simply find a way to end my days.  I fight daily to keep my sanity, to project an appearance that everything is ok, that I am in the best place of my life.  Well I am not.  And I just wish, someone would see me, and say "hey, wanna grab a drink and have a great conversation?"

Til then, I hide in my home and cry as I write this.  It may just be a pathetic 40 something year old seeking attention, or it may just be a woman reaching out, hoping that someone sees her hand, and holds on. Tomorrow I will wear the mask of *all is well* again.  But today, I weep, and wash my soul.  Since I am the only one who sees the wonderful person that I am, and dares to give me what I need.

Illusions

We love our stories.
We love the villains and heroes and characters that meld and blend the tale told to entertain, inspire, and even frighten us.  Yet why?
Why do we enjoy being lied to, being deluded, being mislead, or even spoon fed a version of life much more comfortable?

I shall speculate it is because we were held in such low opinion that we could not handle the truth, without doing something to change it. 

In order to continue our joy of story telling, we take on roles, within another's story.  Now, sometimes our stories have morals, and codes to live by; and at other times they are warnings or threats.  Our entire species in enthralled with these tall tales that we have lost our own way, as a people, to face the truth.  Yet what is the truth? But another story we tell ourselves.  Truth is not objective or part of the omnipresent plan of being.  It is subjective.  It's relevance and resonance dependent on the stories that surround our experience. 

Each day we face a mirror, or reflection and we create a story of why we look the way we do, why our skin is clear or obscured, why our hair is shiny or greying, why our face does or does not reflect back how we feel we do indeed look.  Our mind continuously creates the narrative of our existence, and shapes our vision, our being, and our expression of this self within a vessel of flesh.  Our being is so caught up in illusion that we mask our feelings, our intentions and sometimes, our self; just so that another may accept us better.

These masks worn by us each day, tell ourselves, and those around us, who we are at each moment, and sometimes, to present to the world a much more interesting version of our self.  Yet what if we are boring, or pretentious, or downright miserable - is it possible to still be accepted?  It is likely not the case. Sadly our world is bent on happiness, love, joy and grace that we step back from the ugly, the horrific, the terrible, and the agitating.  We have run so far away from our shadow that it is growing greater than our very essence of being.  Yet to stand in a mirror naked and look into ones own soul, ones own magnificence seems to be painful.  Our soul is perfect. Our minds, emotions, and physical expression of this incarnation at times is not; we are flawed.

So why are we here?
Many may speculate we are here as God learning to experience itself.  Others may say we are a being of light here to experience the feelings of the human vessel.  Still a few might say we are here simply to be here.  It doesn't matter, not really.  For what ever reason we hold onto, or resonate with it is a story.  Stories are made of words, and while we exist in physical form, we do require a way to express our selves through words.  Yet why do we speak? Why do we bother communication our thoughts when sometimes, or many times, our words are misconstrued as another's lie. 

Let's say tomorrow, you do not wear a mask, you apply no make up, you leave your hair in a natural state, and keep the slimming colours and garments in the drawer to be brave enough to leave the house as YOU.  What would happen? What COULD happen?  What story will you share as to why you allow your acne to be seen, or the workouts you didn't do to be known?  What lies will you believe just to have a comfortable existence?

No one is without flaws.  Everyone has stories they must subscribe to, or else their sanity is lost, or perhaps their own opinion of themself has no merit.  Is the ego attached to a story? When we dissolve the ego do we lose the story, or simply another illusion to attach to?

 

I wonder what kind of world we would have if there were no words.  I will let you create a story about that.

 

~by Arthena Sophia Aradhana
www.facebook.com/arthena.aradhana

** Image courtesy of: beyondmasquerade.com