c:

Why do I feel I need emotional comfort and security? I had almost died of loneliness one time in 2015, when I was alone in my family’s townhouse for about three weeks—my sibling and mother had went overseas to the UAE, where dad was working at the time; it was something of a necessary trip abroad, and I had my fall semester of college to take care of, and so I couldn’t go with them—it was during that time frame that I had almost died of loneliness, I think. I didn’t really have very many friends I could talk to—friends in the northern Virginia area, or anywhere else, actually—and so it was kind of difficult. I actually wouldn’t even call it loneliness—it was instead strong feelings of intense isolation and a strange form of fear, I guess. I think I might have long outgrown that general tendency, though; I’m 28 years old, now. That period of fearful and anxiety-ridden aloneness happened when I was about 21 or 22. I think all childish things eventually end. To be fearful and panicky about being alone in a house—especially for a short period of time, like three weeks—is childish. I could have gone for more walks outside; I could have taken up a part time job or volunteer work to fill the days with stimulating activity; etc. Instead, I sort of moped around, around the house. I was 21, I suppose—meaning; I was young and silly. I guess my brain wasn’t fully developed yet, and so I still had childish inclinations ingrained in me, or something. It was almost like a fight-or-flight fear in me, for a substantial amount of time, during those several weeks. It had ended as soon as my mother and older sibling came back from abroad. And I don’t even particularly like my household members very much; we have a very painful and difficult interpersonal history. But someone’s presence in the house is always pacifying, I guess. It wards off any panic that may come about because of aloneness and isolation. I honestly don’t think I really have this tendency anymore, though. I’m almost 30, now—I’m older, now. Being alone—living alone—doesn’t scare me, anymore. I actually haven’t lived completely by myself since that period of about a month, seven years ago; but I have a feeling that that specific type of fear and stress is not coming back, ever.

~

It was during this rough period in 2015 that I started to believe I needed maximum emotional support, and emotional comfort—a constant source of soothing and solace. But these days, I don’t need anyone or anything. I hardly do. I might need to acquire resilience and independence of spirit even more so than I display now, but I do feel I have gained considerable resolve, by now. Time and maturity have cultivated that, in me. For all the other traits that I might lack, I feel that I have strong resolve—I don’t let things bother me for the most part, and I can manage by myself, without other people behind me or near me–and etc. It’s the only way to be, actually. It’s like the sun, or a heavenly body; nothing really bothers it, and it’s self-sufficient; it’s its own source of light. The only way to be is stoic and self-sufficient, actually. “Easily pained by everything” and “needy” are not positive traits, as difficult as it is to admit. It’s bad enough for one individual to be like that; imagine a whole population of people in that condition. Strength and peace of mind formulated from within (that’s the only place it can come from) is the only option, I think. There’s nothing else. (That’s not to say that the overall community can’t help others very much towards these ends, but it’s really just helping people to help themselves–even if they feel incapable and ill-equipped for it, for gaining the aforementioned characteristics.)

Currently, I feel like I’m the type to not crave or desire other people. And so I’ve made genuine progress, in this regard. I do a lot of looking through old photos and old notebooks—especially the happier pictures and the happier entries. And I read a lot: I go through books in self-help/spirituality; religious memoirs/faith-based writings; and texts from public figures, especially ones from recent history whom I look up to—people who I consider to be more mystical and thoughtful/emotionally apt than certain others in the premodern/modern writing community, and world.

I don’t think being isolated is necessarily the worst thing in the world; there are other states of being that are much worse, and much more of a conscious choice that a person makes—much more so than simply not having many friends or well-wishers around the individual person. I’m actually glad, as of late—I get to retreat into what I like to do, now. Journaling; attempting creative writing; reading; walking; cooking; drawing/illustration; my part-time job; and stuff like that. I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with my life, or with the way I’m currently living it. I think I’m starting to not care about certain abusive and undignifying situations that might have happened in my life, too. It’s all good; I should watch it all come back in the form of future blessings, and positive things.