Lonely Distant Blue Moon
I’ve been pulling you close, but pushing me further
…I’ve been wondering whether we’ll last the season
Wish we could’ve made this work.
(Fix It to Break It, Song by Clinton Kane)
I don't actually have a close friend.
Not in the sense that I don't have any friend groups or people to hang out with, but I don't think I have a particular friend who is truly close and reliable enough for me to be completely vulnerable with.
It feels like a paradox. I feel so lonely in a crowded room.
I feel empty even though I have a bunch of friends, even though I have the most loyal circles who would never leave me or downplay me at any cost.
Yet somehow, there is comfort hidden within that emptiness.
An alarm goes off in my body whenever someone tries to get closer.
As if there is an untouchable place that no one can break into. Nobody. Not even myself.
Something deep within me that I have simply left unresolved.
The idea of being attached to someone scares me a lot.
I notice how my body instinctively resists whenever somebody tries to get closer to me.
I notice how awkward and nervous I become whenever a friend asks me to hang out, holds my hand like a best friend, or suggests getting matching friendship bracelets.
I notice how I become rude, put on a tough act, and build a massive wall whenever someone tries to make me vulnerable around them.
The idea of getting closer to people always reminds me of how painful the cost of maintaining that closeness can be.
I don’t want that.
I feel like I’m the kind of person who enjoys someone’s presence without expecting them to stay or become attached. Six flags?
Not because I can't trust them.
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But mostly because I can't trust myself with that kind of responsibility.
The possibility of getting hurt,
Losing the friend you genuinely love the most,
The domino effect of knowing they might see you differently, or worse,
Never being able to earn their trust again.
That kind of thing is eating me alive.
I don't know how many times I've lost some of my closest friends, people I loved wholeheartedly from the very beginning.
Sure, you could tell me that they didn't deserve me, or that they were simply cruel.
Rationally, I can admit that might be true. But that's not really the point. I'm not trying to guilt-trip myself.
The thing about intimacy is that it terrifies me whenever I realize how rarely I treat people as well as they deserve.
If power attracts people to corrupt, then attachment seems to make me reckless.
The kind of recklessness that makes me detach whenever a relationship becomes too close.
Reckless because I'm so clueless about people.
Reckless because I'm never sure whether I can trust someone.
Reckless because I'm terrified of being manipulated.
Reckless because I don't want to feel burdened by expectations I may not be able to meet.
Reckless because I don't want to hurt people,
Or sabotage myself even further with the belief that I'm simply not a good friend.
That realization push people away whenever they try to uncover the gloomy, locked-away parts of my past.
The desk and walls of my room covered in scratches.
The scars on my arms marked by skins.
The ripped red hoodie that eventually turned to ashes.
Maybe my avoidance is just my subconscious trying to protect me from whatever devastating kind of pain.
Maybe the reason I desperately try to impress people when I first meet them is because I want them to see me as a good person. To provoke them I’m not “that person” — even though they wouldn’t think like that.
But after losing people who once meant so much to me, perhaps loneliness no longer feels that frightening.
Maybe someday I'll figure it all out.
Maybe someday I'll find the courage to face the pain.
Maybe for now, I just need some peace of mind.
And honestly, deep down, I don't want to push you away.
I want to show you all the love I have.
I want to hold you with the sincerest warmth.
I'm sorry if I can't always be present.
I'm sorry if my fears are what eventually make you uncomfortable around me.
I'm sorry if I've been selfish, and if I've failed to be as patient with you as you've been with me.
At the end of the day, I believe that the people who remain are the ones I can slowly learn to open up to.
And I hope they won't laugh at me when I finally show them my vulnerability.
And I hope I can eventually heal—for them, and for every new person I choose to trust.
For whoever genuinely stays,
even when I'm no longer shining blue.
