Empty House

Lately my house is never empty, but tonight I am alone. I have slightly irrational fears about being completely alone in my house. I think it stems from last June, when things were at their worst and I was in a constant state of not wanting to be alive because all of my waking moments were filled with the constant feeling of complete and utter terror. The kind of terror that kept me shaking all day, that I would wake up to first thing in the morning, constantly with me. I was living alone at the time, this was right after I had broken up with my boyfriend and had him move out. Then the terror hit a few weeks later. Also after getting the concussion. What I’m getting at, is I was terrified of being alone because I didn’t want to live anymore, but I also was terrified of dying. Kind of silly, I suppose.

Feeling like you can’t keep living…

And feeling like you must keep living…

But being so afraid of the terror that you no longer trust yourself to keep yourself alive…

I had a friend come stay with me. He was one of my best friends from childhood. A total shut in otaku. It was perfect. He just lived on my couch, marathoned anime and played video games all day. I didn’t feel like I needed constant companionship – just the reassurance that there was someone around. And that was perfect.

He moved out of state in August to go live with his dad. I am so grateful for the time he stayed with me.

After he left, my best friend actually flew across the country with her newborn baby to stay with me for a bit, she was so worried. I am grateful for the wonderful friends that I have, even if most of them aren’t even in my state. They know that I would do the same for them if I were better, and have done.

The friend who stayed with me from June to August tried to kill himself multiple times over the years. I was always the only person who would go to whatever hospital he was at and just hang out with him. I didn’t get mad at him, or scold him. I just tried to be a good friend, because I knew that he knew that what he had tried to do was wrong, and he was already beating himself up enough for it as it was, and didn’t need to hear anyone lecture him. Sometimes all we need is someone to try to make us laugh and treat us like we’re normal. Sometimes I think treating someone who’s having a hard time like they’re a normal person is the greatest kindness we can show to them. Those are the best friends, and I appreciate that my friends have done that for me.

My boyfriend just left, because he works the graveyard shift. Which is usually convenient, because I like knowing that my roommate is home and sleeping while he’s at work. But tonight she’s staying at her girlfriends house, so I’m here alone.

I guess I’m also afraid that something will happen to me. I’m not afraid of the house being broken into, or anything like that. I’m actually quite good in situations where my life or someone elses is actually at stake, or at least I’d like to think so.

Instead, I’m afraid that the terror will return and I’ll be alone.

That I won’t be able to handle it.

That it would be so awful that I’d prefer to simply stop living than continue to live like that.

The terror hasn’t struck in full force for quite a while now, which is quite a relief. I’ve had plenty of bouts of anxiety and anxiety attacks, but not full blown terrorizing panic attacks where I’m in that state of being completely outside of myself while painfully feeling too much. I think the terror got worse when I started to feel depressed and have these agonizing existential feelings at the same time.

I know I’ve been throwing the word existential around a lot in my blog.

Here, I stole this from Wikipedia:

Existentialism is a term applied to the work of certain late 19th- and 20th-century philosophers who, despite profound doctrinal differences, shared the belief that philosophical thinking begins with the human subject—not merely the thinking subject, but the acting, feeling, living human individual. In existentialism, the individual’s starting point is characterized by what has been called “the existential attitude”, or a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world. Many existentialists have also regarded traditional systematic or academic philosophies, in both style and content, as too abstract and remote from concrete human experience.

The article also says that Soren Kierkegaard was considered the first existentialist. I did not know this, but I have been reading quite a bit of him lately. I’ve been reading a large volume of his collected works, and am also almost done reading The Seducers Diary.

I’ve been reading quite a bit lately. I usually am reading a lot. I read more than anyone that I know. I also have more time on my hands than anyone else I know.

I’ve been enjoying Burning Your Boats – The collected Short Stories of Angela Carter. I also recently finished reading (nearly) ever book by Robert Greene. Including a book on fear that he co-wrote with 50 cent, but just reads as a Robert Greene book. I particularly enjoyed The Art of Seduction.

I’ve been reading Perks of Being a Wallflower with my boyfriend the past few days. We’ll take turns reading Charlie’s entries out loud to each other. I like to read out loud, and I do it a lot. Tonight I’m finishing up The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins.

I’ve also recently re-read Ready Player One by Ernest Cline, which is a favorite of mine. And I’ve been finishing (for the millionth time) The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams. There are many more. I usually finish at least a handful of books every week. Sometimes I’ll simply read all day long if I’m not writing. I tend to devour books in a way that most people don’t tend to believe. They’ll look at my bookshelves and say, “you can’t have possibly read all of these books.” Usually I just smile and say, “I think there are a few up there I’ve been meaning to get around to.”

Anyway, back to what I was talking about at the beginning of this post.

The fear of being alone in the house.


I was surprised because the one thought that soothed me when I realized I was going to be alone, before going into full on panic mode, was that I could simply write a blog about how I was feeling. Somehow, that thought made me feel better. It gave me something solid to do to work around it. That’s helpful. I’m beginning to think that starting this blog may be a positive thing for me, because it gives me an outlet. Even if no one ever reads it, at least it’s helpful for me, and ultimately I suppose that’s what really matters when you’re trying to work through all of your mental issues.

I still haven’t given up hope that I will get better.

I haven’t given up that I’ll travel the world.

Or be able to go places by myself.

Or be able to go places.

In general.

I don’t think it’s helpful that I continue to compare myself to a somebody that I used to be in the past.

Because the somebody that I used to be was recklessly spontaneous and would get on a plane at the drop of a hat, drive cross country for no apparent reason other than impulsiveness, and get into all kinds of mischief. Basically, I was the polar opposite of the person that I am in this moment.

The person I used to be, was the kind of person who would decide at three in the morning to go walk to the ocean, and strip down to nothing and jump in.

The person I am now is terrified of walking alone, can sometimes walk when someone is with me, but usually not at night, and the few attempts I’ve made at going to the beach, I’ve been unable to walk as far as the water.

I can hear the waves crashing right now.

I love the sound, but it’s also painful to

hear them, so close, yet so far away.

“Do not think I do not realise what I am doing. I am making a composition using the following elements: the winter beach; the winter moon, the ocean; the women; the pine trees; the riders; the driftwood; the shells; the shapes of darkness and the shapes of water; and the refuse. These are all inimical to my loneliness because of their indifference to it. Out of these pieces is inimical indifference, I intend to represent the desolate smile of winter which, as you may have gathered, is the smile I wear.”

– Burning Your Boats, The Collected Short Stories by Angela Carter

I’ve noticed that I tend to like to find a song that somewhat explains how I feel. I like ending my words with music. I think I’ll keep doing that.

This is one of my favorite songs. It seems to fit my mood at the moment.

Oh no love, you’re not alone
You’re watching yourself but you’re too unfair
You got your head all tangled up but if I could only
Make you care

Oh no love, you’re not alone
No matter what or who you’ve been, no matter when or where you’ve seen
All the knives seem to lacerate your brain
I’ve had my share, I’ll help you with the pain, you’re not alone

– David Bowie


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