Isolation Thoughts: On Love and Loneliness

Welcome to my most recent 1.75-month long stream of consciousness. I hope you enjoy yourself.

On hopelessness/self

Can this last much longer?

Cause I’m not sure that I will.

I don’t mean to be exceptionally melodramatic.

Well, I do.

Regardless, I’m unsure of my next move.

I’m looking to get inspired

How strange it is to be aware of one’s own growth

I see the essence of me

In the absence of a routine

I strive every day to be the one that got away,

instead of the one who gets the privilege of being with you

I want to be an image instead of a photograph

an icon instead of a statue

a monument instead of a fucking donated bench

I am most vulnerable when faced with my own image in the elevator of my apartment building

I am a body in transition, transport

I am coming home or I am leaving it?

Does it matter how I look?

And to whom?

Can I stop being neurotic for one, single, solitary second?

I use my opinion as commodity

as status

as power

Because that’s what modern women are taught to do

We’re taught people had better listen to us or they’re sexist

And don’t deserve the know our thoughts at all

Why then, have I spent so much time with men who don’t give a fuck about what I think?

On longing

I want to touch somebody and feel something.

Right now I feel everything.

And everything feels like a slap in the face.

And then I wanted to tell you how much I wanted you

But you were talking about WWII and I didn’t think that it was relevant

My 20s so far have been accepting criticism

and changing my definition of comfortable

I’m still working out the difference

between "hurt and questioned"

and "valued and critiqued"

“I wanted you to…” I thought of saying

But I didn’t say that,

I didn’t say anything

We convince ourselves that love, being in love,

isn’t isolation

In so many ways thought, it is.

It’s obsession festering in internal monologue.

It’s expectation held too high over our heads to ever grasp.

It’s being lonely together.

Above all else though, it is what happens when we allow ourselves to be known.

It is ultimately a selfish act.

We allow ourselves to be vulnerable, just hoping that we’ll be accepted for it.

This time has shown me how capable we are of patience and understanding

As citizens of our cities, states, countries and universe we must make certain unspoken agreements about what we are and will be willing to do for

what we’re told

is the greater good

We live our lives in majorities and not absolutes.

This mandated time of isolation is an amazing opportunity to fall in love. I am falling in love.

Of course, maybe I’m speaking too soon. So soon that in a week’s time I’ll feel completely differently. I don’t believe that that makes these feelings, the ones that I’m feeling presently, any less true or valid. I’m used to falling in love with the mementos and hobbies. But now, these glimpses into your life are not at the forefront of my mind, as they previously have been. Not being physically with someone you could be in love with is… difficult to say the least.

I keep catching myself mistyping “loving” as “living” and I refuse to accept that my fingers are so consistently clumsy.

Love is ephemeral. Love moves in waves. So too will this season of our lives. Surely and with its own intention, until we are used to the sound of waves crashing. Until we return to consciousness and find ourselves lying on the sand, unsure of whether or not we'd fallen asleep, and if we had, for how long?

Nothing is ever certain, but love does a great job of convincing us that it is constant; eternal; forever. Even when we feel skeptical of the power of love, it eventually shows itself and makes us a believer once again.

Certain of its power. Certain of its grace. Certain that it can heal our scars and make us worthy of it once again.

Presentable again. Love is never vitriolic.

All of my friends say

they’ve never seen me like this before

You make me want to make an attempt

On intimacy

I laughed then

and you said

"You laugh at everything"

Is that a bad thing?

"No, I quite like it.

You laugh when someone’s being stupid, when you think you’re right.

When you feel uncomfortable.

It’s hard to tell why you're. But regardless, I’m glad to hear it."

I wasn’t sure if any of those things were true.

I’m in the position to pretend as if your treatment of me won’t affect my self-confidence

What a strange thing to feel:

that vulnerability must be supported by walls, boundaries, regulations

Why does our psyche allow us to care for people? Or is it a fight we rage

against our common sense, the thing that is trying to keep us alive,

the people who can hurt us and make us feel as though our every nerve is exposed

For a long while I will just be an object to you, a body with which you get to play

Let me be clear, that is not the way you make me feel

but it is the way I’ve felt for a long time

I feel seen

I feel so accepted by you.

I feel like you’re trying your hardest not to hurt me,

I feel observed and undisturbed

That is the care I know I deserve.

It’s what I never got from my parents

I never want to be unfunny with you

I never want to not be funny with you

How ironic is it

to work so hard to become a machine

knowing all the while that your human body will

always be your downfall

That is the morality of productivity

There is something untouchable, inaccessible, about a man who is aware of themselves, and still softens with love. Apart from infatuation, apart from obsession. A man who leans in to love is someone special. A man who is aware of their actions and how those actions can and will have effects on others.

The queering of masculinity feels helpful, productive and magical. The presence of a helping hand that will always catch what slips through the cracks.

On dependency

I’m going to go crazy

I think

because I can feel my dependency on you developing

Maybe it’s the fact that the world feels like it’s ending

but does it really, especially, feel like it’s ending?

It’s ending all the time, isn’t it?

in every, small way.

Semesters and seasons and meals and drinks and flowers in vases, sunrises and sunsets are ending right now.

I can’t believe that we had to tear this apart just to put it back together again

I know that I don’t need someone to take care of me

but I’d like them to

On You

I never want you to be feeling so much that you feel that you can’t tell me all about it

Your emotions are valid

I want to know what you think,

always.

Never forget that you are allowed to change your mind

Your words are never absolutes

They never have been

I can’t get a read on you.

Is it hubris or ignorance?

I’m intrigued by the way you laugh to yourself about things you’ve just remembered

before you say them

Nothing about the way you act seems forced

I see you as unapologetically yourself

I’m very attracted to you

you said

The words felt and sounded right,

correct

like lyrics to a song I thought I’d forgotten

That didn’t stop my stomach from dropping

as I felt my irises expanding

I remember thinking

"Who is this person

and how did they become so good?"

I didn’t know that other people cried when they yawned,

could be so tender - worshipping - that I could want to cry,

take their time with me,

be in, what seems like, such control of themselves,

could be so surprising that it could make me want to be completely transparent in return

You’re a favourite book that I wish I’d written

I’m so terrified that one day you’ll destroy me

and it won’t be the result of something malicious that you’ve planned.

I’m aware that it’s absolutely possible that you’ll say something, something small,

to me in 14 years and it’ll break a part of me beyond repair.

I won’t know how to think straight and I’ll question everything I thought I knew about you

After all, I only pretend to know anything about you.

The things that have become just as much a part of my own identity as they are my perception of yours

I’ll resent you for changing the person I was when you met me.

Even though

that’s exactly what I asked you to do the second I met you

-- see reverse

I’m scared that I’ll fuck you up.

You’re so good and I’m afraid of ruining the amazing work you’ve done in setting up your systems,

the ones that have made you the person that you are

the person that I’ve loved

I feel my anxieties about this in everyday actions,

in the tension between your fingers when you take my hand in yours,

in the way you turn away from me, away from the sunlight that tells us that we should be up already

On sex

I exhale sharply without meaning to

I feel incapable of saying or doing anything

You’re with me and I feel like I could die

You touch your forehead to mine for a moment too long

then turn your attention to my neck

You press your palm into my shoulder like you want to touch me

I find that we often land on very catholic terminology

in our conversations

Is it because of how subversive sex is when it plays out in opposition to Catholicism?

or is it because we want to be reminded of all of the ways that we are good

Good people who deserve good sex,

good sex which deserves to be praised

Then I remember:

it’s inherently catholic to try to be the morally superior human.

You let out a sigh so intense

It sounds like a word

I see a message from you and stop breathing for a moment

because of how specific and pointed the content is

I feel my blood rush behind my ears

I like the sounds you make when you’re in my mouth

I feel at home in my body with you

which is odd, because I usually forget to be one

I usually forget that I have one at all

I love sex

because if I didn’t

I’d be a hypocrite

I am extremely aware that I never

want to come off as one of those

On forever/hope

I don’t know if I’ll be with you forever.

You don’t know it either. You can’t.

I can’t.

But isn’t it enough for me to say that I want to be?

All I want in this moment is to be with you; forever.

All that we have is this moment

and I don’t intend on wasting it.

I caught myself dancing down the street yesterday,

one significantly less populated than usual

In that moment I felt myself truly not caring that I was in plain sight

Even as I did it, I knew it must seem ridiculous to some.

That’s the kind of bliss I hope to continue to foster with you.

Falling in love feels like the chance to be the happiest you could ever be

How can I manage deciding whether

I’m in love with you,

the idea of you,

the way you treat me,

or the idea of love itself?

Is 'all of the above' an acceptable answer?

On commitment

Labels for other people

and I happen to be another person,

to you.

On pain/falling out of love

Pain is a by-product of love and care.

I love you,

you say

but only ever until tomorrow.

Sometimes,

even less

I have loved, lost and rebuilt before.

But I’ve never fallen in love with another person

while being physically alone

Falling out of love is a phenomenon that is hardly ever quantifiable.

As a young, ignorant person who likes to pretend that they have a basic understanding of love, I believe that there is often no tangible reason that love transforms, ends or begins again.

I believe that we’re attracted to people because of what they provide us. Because of what they make us see, or want to see, within ourselves.

I’ve loved people for their cantor, their irony, their loudness, and their desire to be known.

I’ve loved people for how their bodies moved with or in opposition to mine, for how their eyes told me that they looked at me. I’ve loved the rotation of wrists and the movement of hair in and out of the frame of their face, then back in again, again.

I’ve discounted the ways that I’ve felt love. Haven't we all? Because it is human - easy - to reject love we don’t believe that we are worthy of.

I used to think that not giving voice to negative thoughts was enough to take away their power. Now I’m not so sure. There is strength in pointing out and confronting discomfort, vulnerability, pain and trauma, respectively.

There is beauty in saying exactly what you feel, when you feel it without any consideration for how someone else will react to it, even when it concerns them. Uncensored emotion and passion itself are professions that we’re lacking in our day to day.

Maybe that’s why we see flashmob proposals and PDA as so threatening. Because they represent a union, a bridging between carnal instinct and structured regiments. The idea that we must fight the innate is tired, at best.

Love is not duality. Love is consistent, but always changing. It adapts. We refuse to see it as anything other than frustrating when we attempt to place the rules of the physical world onto it.

We allow overthinking and fear to take the place of genuine outbursts of love, denying the feeling that is constantly bouncing around inside of us, looking for an avenue to be released. I catch myself wondering if I’ve ever thought anything at all or if my brain has really been doing nothing, feigning psychological productivity.

On writing love

Like writing, love demands subject matter.

You are the subject of this piece.

I miss you selfishly.

On flaws

Maybe all of the things that I don’t absolutely love about you

are things I am insecure about in myself

When you act passively,

perhaps what I’m afraid of is not having the opportunity to blame you.

I can never be mad at you for sacrificing a conflict

because you accept that we are different people

and always will be

On You on Me

'I’m not used to women being as sexually aggressive as me,

not that I think that you deserve less agency,

I don’t know what I intended to communicate...'

I know exactly what you meant.

But I didn't stop you.

There’s just something so endearing about watching you spiral,

never wanting to be misunderstood

A tendency that language makes so easy to do

If you ever think I’m being too over the top

just know that it’s all for you,

for your benefit.

I never want to hurt you in my theatrics

It’s all for you.

You’re happy to listen to me even when my thoughts reach no conclusions

and when I just want to listen to pop music because of how carefree it makes life out to be

I think people tend to fall in love with the idea of me.

I love my life but I self-sabotage and wonder if people are only enjoying the theatrics,

the act I’m putting on

In these moments, I remind myself that everyone has cracks and it’s possible to see through these cracks in the right person

Because I see through everyone,

I expect that they do the same to me,

that they see through me.

And that terrifies me.

I wish I was more comfortable with true vulnerability,

instead of its cousin: oversharing

Being comfortable enough to show your scars proves that you are not afraid of yourself

I am critical to a fault,

analytical in the extreme.

I run the seam of my skirt underneath my fingernail

and look up at the dollar store-bought disco ball on my living room ceiling

I turn to look at you again and your body’s already against mine

No notes.

On power

Do you not like to feel powerful?

Or are you uncomfortable when you’re reminded of how much power you have

and how powerful you love to feel

Intelligent women are so sarcastic

because for one moment

we want people to doubt our intelligence

just to take the edge off

Control is given and and belongs to no one

Time will always be more powerful than you are

On internal monologue

What am I thinking right now?

Am I thinking for myself or through the lenses of every person I’ve ever met

whose opinions I’ve heard?

Maybe I’m thinking absolutely nothing at all.

Natalie Chuck

Isolation Thoughts: On Love and Loneliness

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