Only human

Sometimes I hate the part of me that needs people. Once upon a time I was content with not being around people for any measurable length of time. I was alright with reading for hours in my room or taking hour-long walks and not caring (at least outwardly) that people I'd befriended hadn't called me for weeks. No big deal.

I'm almost back at that point again. I still vent to one particular person the bitter feeling of not having friends return my calls or emails, though. After working so hard at trusting people and opening up to them and allowing them to see the flawed me, not so much as a "hey, how ya doin'?" from them. But, like I said, I'm almost back to not outwardly caring. Of course there's going to be that little corner of my being that has begun to revert to stone. That part that can take people or leave 'em. The part that, occasionally, will swell with the almost undeniable desire to partake of human interaction and closeness with another being, but that desire will be immediately quelled.

The other day, I got a call from someone I still consider a friend and have no bitter feelings toward whatsoever. She's one of only two people that called me after I dropped off the face of the earth for four months. I didn't hear my phone right away and, before I could decided whether I wanted to answer it, the call had gone to voicemail. She'd left a message asking how I was, saying she hadn't seen me in a while, and asking if I wanted to get together with her, her husband, or both of them. It took me a good hour of going back and forth between deciding to send her an email, call her back, or just ignore it all. I ended up calling her back and setting up a hang-out date with her husband (also a good friend of mine) one night and her another night. But, there was a time when I wouldn't have taken any time at all to decide not to bother returning the message.

I haven't quite been able to suppress a desire to have everything back to where it was. Back to a time when I think I was truly happy. I had friends I hung out with on a regular basis and we had deep, meaningful conversations. I wish I knew what happened to me to change all that.

I know wishing never did anything for anyone, but I wish. I wish that I'd had a chance at a sane, somewhat "normal" life. You're probably asking yourself, "what makes her so special?" or "doesn't she know a lot of people have it worse than she does?" You're right. I'm not all that special and I know, personally in fact, people who have had it worse than I have. But, I still have the right to wish, don't I? I wish my whole life wasn't so fucking dysfunctional.

I guess it's only human to want what one can't have.