THE only person I knew who had a lonelier life than me, was my father. The older he got, the more lonely he became. It was pitiful.
I must write this so my family understands my behaviour over the years. The fight I’ve always had against loneliness–the kind of deep down, black, hollow loneliness that I had struggled against with every strategy I could find.
I didn’t recognize the signs when I was a young child. All I knew was that when I was out playing, I didn’t want to go home. So I was outside a lot and stayed out until it became pitch black.
WHEN I went home, loneliness gripped me like a fist and I descended into a deep hole and a black lid covered me.
ONE early evening in the fall, when I was around 11, Diane Dellitch and I were playing with red clay outside in a dirty drain, making shapes and bowls, My fingers were cold and brittle, but I didn’t want to stop. Finally, Diane went home, and I was forced to walk up the stairs from the street, inside the house, up the stairs to the second floor and be home.
MY mother would be stretched out on the counch, semi-awake, my Dad was in the recliner, and my brothers were in the living room with them, watching TV.
WE had to tiptoe when we were home, not slam the refrigerator door, not make loud noises, talk softly and make sure to bang nothing or my mother would raise her head and demand to know who was making all that noise. Then she yelled at the offerender to be quiet.
WE all obeyed and stayed as still and quiet as possible.
BUT my loneliness was much more than that.
LOOKING back on it, it was a familial depression and isolation from society which I didn’t understand. My brothers got involved in sports which saved them, but I was at the mercy of the kitchen and my mother. She did the best she could, but the loneliness persisted. I was different. I was alone. I was out there solo.
THE good part of this was it made me very independent and strong, which served me well.
AND over the years, I developed good social skills and moved forward. But it was hard, and I often felt like I was treading water in an area that I didn’t totally understand.
MY first marriage was a challenge to both of us, but we produced two beautiful sons who overcame the dysfunctional family they existed in.
IN my second marriage I was no longer alone. I had a co-pilot, a partner, someone to emotionally support me.
IT was comfortable, it was safe, it was secure, it was not lonely. Never did I have a role model for that, but now it was an integral part of my life.
AND the comfort, the companionship, the security was part of everyday living. It was wonderful to have a soul mate and the years of unrelenting loneliness subsided, but did not entirely disappear.
IT wasn’t until I visited a psychiatrist to help me deal with my husbands’ death, did I learn that I had inherited depression, an enduring condition that negatively impacted my life and needed constant medication.
SO in the past, the decisions I made, the course I took, all related to not being alone and depressed any more. Some of the decisions were not good for my sons, but I was fighting a hidden battle, an underground agenda to find a comfortable space.
I apologise to those I love for appearing selfisih. I apologise to those I love for being self-centered. I apologise to the ones I love for being ego-centric. But it was all done for survival.
I wish it had been easier.