Posted in February 2015
I write only about the things that I know…
There’s so much they don’t tell you about. But I will tell you, Child.
When they tell you that being single is good too, they don’t tell you about loneliness and silence that’s deafening. They don’t tell you that it sucks, sometimes. They talk about Oprah, but even she has a boyfriend.
They don’t tell you about the emptiness. There’s emptiness that new clothes and designer shoes and redecorating your apartment cannot fill. But no one tells you about this. They don’t tell you that there is a gaping hole that comfort food and peanut butter cannot fill. But nobody tells you this. And so you don’t tell anyone about it. So you have new clothes that you haven’t worn since you bought them a year ago. And sometimes tearing the tags of them can make you happy. Other times, it’s just a reminder of the emptiness that won’t go away.
They don’t tell you about the weekends you’ll want to stay in and turn off your phones. When you won’t even open the windows so light doesn’t come in to lift the darkness. You get darker curtains, so you won’t be able to tell night from day and so you can hide away while another day passes. Tomorrow will be better.
Then there are the days when everything will make you cry. Your favourite happy song, your favourite sad song, a text message or an old picture. Even the things that should bring you joy will make you sad- like your friends in your eternally single circle getting “bae’d” up, or the unadulterated love and adoration that a child will give you. It will make you wonder how much longer you have to wait for yours. Or maybe it’s just that you’ve seen true love, and for once you didn’t have to fight for it.
Then there are the days of silence. You go mute on everyone because you can’t keep explaining that there’s “still no one”. And even when there’s someone you don’t want to jinx it so it’s just better not to say anything. Or maybe you don’t want to have to explain why it didn’t work with this one too. Because you already know how these things go. The last one was supposed to be the last shot at this thing, but we’ll give it one more try. If only everyone else was this optimistic.
They don’t tell you that some days when you cry, the only hand that will be rocking you to sleep will be your own. Because no one else should see these tears. And then on the better days when everything went well, there’d be no one to tell too. There’s no human wall to bounce ideas off. It’s all pen and paper, and blogs and songs.