Single Girl Chronicles: Alone vs. Lonely

I think this weird sadness that has been hovering over me for the past two weeks or so is finally maybe starting to dissipate.
Maybe.
Spending time with friends this weekend helped... and having some time with that Bad Bad Man is always a plus. I think sad is starting to move on.
Maybe.
I have certainly been knitting more, and reading a lot more... the fact that I can concentrate on either of those activities is a positive sign.
I think I was just feeling overwhelmed and alone.

As this whole grieving process moves along and I get through my anger and shock I find myself falling through emotional trap doors. Because he wasn't always a bad guy. And he did love me once. And I loved him back. And no matter how bad it got for me in the end the truth is that in the beginning it was good.
And that's the meat of it... I think that I am scared to trust that if I let someone get close enough to convince me that they love me that way that it won't end in a total shitstorm. That if I let myself need another person I am setting myself up to lose again.

I am equally afraid that there will never be another person who loves me that much.

I don't think this is a death thing... I think if we had divorced I would be going through this same sort of thing.

OK. I know that I am not alone. I have Bean, I have my friends, I have a Bad, Bad Man, I have my family.

I am not alone.

But also? I am alone.

I do not want to be married again.
I was terrible at it and it was terrible to me.
But surrounded by couples I think I started realizing that not being married took the assumption of spending the rest of my life with someone completely out of the equation.
It's that whole "fear that I might die alone and be eaten by wild dogs" thing that Bridget Jones was so worried about.
Or worse... that I might end up as one of those nursing home ladies that nobody visits.

But the thing is... being married doesn't mean those things won't happen.
Women generally outlive their husbands. We just do.
And also... I was so much more alone when Bartleby was around. There was so much I couldn't say about what was really happening in my house... and secrets build walls that that are so hard to get through.

For all of the loneliness involved, there are so many things I like about living by myself:

I like that I am not subjected to anyone else's musical taste.

I like that I don't have to negotiate with anyone if I want to re-paint the walls... or the entire house if and when I feel like it.

I like that I can buy the brand of laundry detergent that I want. Ditto the toothpaste, soap, cheese and peanut butter.

I like that for the most part I sleep alone. All the blankets, all the pillows, all the control over whether the TV is on and what is on it. I don't have to feel bad if I can't sleep and decide at 3 am to turn the lights back on and knit or read. It doesn't matter that I snore.
Sometimes Bean will want to sleep with me, and sometimes when Bean is not home there is a Bad Bad Man lurking under the covers... But those nights are the exception to the norm and even I don't mind sharing my pillows from time to time. (I will say that they are both shameless bed hogs and I almost always end up perched on the very edge of the mattress).

I like that I am not required to pretend to care about sporting events.

I like that I can come home on time... or not... as long as Bean is taken care of and the cats are fed.

I like that (unless I decide I require a "plus one") I can RSVP to any party, event, dinner or gathering without consulting anyone else.

I like that I can have a party, event, dinner or gathering at my house without consulting anyone else.

I could continue...