All the organisation and filing I’ve done to get my various writing projects into any sort of a shape (hopefully one that looks, sounds, and smells like a story) caused me to go through some of my old writing. They mostly consist of bits I spasmodically wrote when the feeling hit me, and word docs with one line ideas in them that obviously meant something to past me but now means nothing to current me.
Amongst all that was a little piece I wrote on missing someone. I wrote it a couple of years ago when the Lady Holly was living in London and I was living alone. It’s a bit melodramatic, something I usually try to avoid, but there’s enough truth in there that I thought I’d like to share it with you.
The worst part is when you stop. You turn off the TV, or something like that, and you become aware of the silence, you become aware of exactly how alone you are…and it frightens you. There is a definite element of fear to it, it takes you by surprise. With the television on you’ve got sound, you’ve got people, you get caught up with the characters you’re watching , you’re thoughts align with theirs and you’re not alone. Until you realise you are, and you were all along.
I just finished a film and was feeling great, good movie, nice message, very much satisfied. I turned it off and the silence came barreling in on me. I had to look around at my empty living room. I noticed the darkness in the adjoining rooms, how clean everything looked (because one person alone can be terribly neat), and the only sounds I can hear are the drone from a faulty light and the distant noise of traffic outside.
Behind the fear comes a sadness. Something is missing, something that other people have but I’m missing it and I’m missing it even more in this current moment. Then you think what next? What am I about to do right now? You don’t know because whatever it is you’ll still be doing it alone and it won’t fill that something that’s missing. You become desperate to get it but you know you can’t, because that something missing is a person or persons. It’s not a quick fix. I can’t go down to the shop and buy my new significant person and feel good again. I can go down and buy ice cream which is pretty close, but ultimately temporary.
It’s not the end of the world or anything. It’s a sadness forgotten that comes back with more force because of that forgetfulness. And I’ll be alright, we all will be, but it sucks to miss someone and it sucks to be alone. Humans are pack animals and as evolved and as civilised as we become there will always be basic human needs, companionship is one of them. I miss it. I miss Holly.