No man is an island.
They said that. Overused. They told us that no one survives being alone. No one did. Oh, no one did? I don’t know. I haven’t even proved that either. For a fact, the thing I believe is that I don’t believe it too.
Sure, we are the kind of species who love connection with other people. We are that kind in nature. Interactive, affectionate, associated. We think of others. We give them attention and take attention from them. We have to feel that. That need. It gives us the purpose, like gas to fire, like oxygen to air.
And knowing the boundaries and limits is something we know but we don’t pay attention to. We expect more. We get hurt for inappropriate reasons. We set a foot forward when it isn’t needed. We give more than what’s being asked. We are that kind of species. The dumb-passionate. The blind-masochist. In one point or another, our need for others becomes a poison slowly killing us.
The draining energies. The expectations. The silent wishes. The unspoken intentions. We all have that. And it happens so fast that we most of the time don’t realize it’s already happening. We let loose and inhale the toxicities. We let certainties drain us until we can no longer put ourself back and hold it together. Just like that.
I’ve been a mess. I still am. I have enough of the criticisms but I don’t see it wrong to find that connection. If it’s not working I have to stop. If it works then I stay in it and hold on like it’s for my dear life. No matter what. Even if it’s exhausting. It’s confusing. It is painful. It drains me to no end. It makes me awake at night and renders no rest in the morning. Despite all of these, that’s still what I want- the connection. I can shut all the blinds off, but the door will always be open. There is a hand waiting at the doorknob. I could’ve locked the door. I should have.
But I am scared to be a lone island.