I am aware that, technically, there’s no such thing as a person who is an island. Even the most disconnected person has a sliver of contact with the outside world. One has to buy food and so forth.
If you pay attention to my blog, though, you’ll notice I haven’t been around much. For months, posting only sporadically. I have been isolating, you see.
I have spent as much time as possible holing up with myself. Oftentimes I feel irritable when people are around me; I just want them to leave me alone.
Why do I isolate? Why do I feel no desire to change the situation? I ponder these questions, analyze myself, and this is what I come up with:
The answer is as simple as that.
As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. I don’t have to worry about anyone, which sounds callous and reflects poorly on me. I’m not saying I don’t care about anyone–I do, and it’s too much. I can feel so much empathy that I won’t be able to function. I will twist my knowledge of what others are going through upon myself, inspiring my blaze of self-hatred to roar more deeply. I feel guilty for my inability to cope with my own life, you see, because what would happen if I went through the terrors others are going through? I’d break like the weakling I am.
I care, but sometimes I feel like I don’t have a right to care. Like the other party wouldn’t want anything to do with me. Or I feel like a liar when I claim I care, because I’m isolating.
But this is not meant to be a pity party. That’s just one facet of what’s behind my isolation.
Without forming attachments, I don’t have to face eventual disappointment. Because I do get too attached and usually find the other person doesn’t value the relationship as much as I do. Or maybe the other person tires of me because I’m too boring.
I am a person who requires a lot of alone time, even if I weren’t isolating. Being around people can be exhausting. It tries my nerves since I’m so anxious all the time. I can’t help it.
In the past, people have mistaken this need for alone time as indifference to them. As disinterest in social activities or spending time with them. It’s not. By isolating, I don’t have to deal with that misunderstanding.
By isolating, I can lose myself in other worlds and not worry about my own. In a way, void my existence without actually, you know, voiding my existence.
I don’t have to fret about where my life is going. I can distract myself from feeling like a failure. And give myself what I (feel like I) deserve–being cut off from others.
Is it lonely? Of course. But maybe that’s just the only way I can be. Plus, as I said, it’s safe. My depression hasn’t been as intense as it was before the isolation started. I’m not happy, either, but at least I’m not at the bottom of the depths of misery. Perhaps the status quo isn’t healthy, but if I’m staying in the shallows of depression, rather than drowning in the deep end, does that matter?
I’m not sure if my motivations for isolating mirror those of others. I suspect some of them do. Like the two word summation, “it’s safe.” The safe and the familiar–it can be a comfort.
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