Sometimes a powerful wave of sad-flavoured loneliness engulfs my being and leaves me washed up on the bedraggled sands of an isolated cove. Metaphor, obviously, but the sadness, loneliness and being engulfed part is true. It comes out of the blue, as it did earlier, often when I’ve been having a relatively good time.
Most of the time I cope with being me, singular, pretty well. It’s probably easier to deal with my health shit alone in some ways although if I fall down dead on the floor there isn’t anyone to find me, not even a cat to start eating me once they’ve realised I’m unable to open any more tins of food for them. And I am adept at entertaining myself.
Fulfilling myself, enriching myself by bringing external ideas, feelings and soul – well no, I can’t do those things alone which, given I would like fulfilment and enrichment which isn’t entirely self-mediated, means sad-flavoured loneliness will always thrust me back onto that metaphorical beach at times.
Sad-flavoured loneliness is a twat.