Capital Letter Me

I've been trying on the idea of lonely for some months now. The word first tumbled from some consciousness and out of my mouth on a car ride with my friend. 

“I’ve been lonely for as long as I can remember,” we were both stunned to hear me say. 

We had just pulled up to her apartment when this unannounced truth slid into open air. We’ve been friends and colleagues for more than twenty years: clocking countless hours of logistics, laughter, life and lament. 

For as long as I can remember.

I've never described myself as lonely, save a post-breakup season. Isolated, either. True, most of my world is solitary: sitting at a laptop, traveling to an engagement, working from my empty nest home office, even speaking in front of an audience or class. By default, I’m alone a lot, but lonely is different. Isolation is different.

My language, instead, is that I’m “a high-functioning introvert,” was "an arts and crafts kid” and have always “spent a lot of time in my head.” I came into myself through a gauntlet of always being “too” something: too tall, too proper, too loud, too complicated, too pretty, too plain, too shapely, too square, too confident, too talkative, too insecure, too capable, too nice, too white sounding, too black being, too smart, too curious, too selfish, too sexual, too certain, too trusting, too distant, too creative… 

I learned, eventually, that everyone won’t handle Me with care just because they should, or they can, or I’ve pleaded, or because it’s what decent people do. Decent people do dastardly things and vice versa. I compiled rules of engagement over time, figuring out how not to share too much of myself with humans who might seize, shred or disregard my Self.

Until the car ride, it was my assessment that most humans are not truly interested in Capital Letter Me. Not really, not even when they wanted to be. And not because humans (or I!) are awful beings. We just can't help ourselves not being our whole selves sometimes. So, I would send out Small Letter me instead and keep Capital Letter Me in the backroom, with the snacks and books, unless someone asked for her. Small letter me isn’t different from the Big Letter version ...still yummy and nutritious .... just … lighter.

“Y'know …” my friend started. I cut her off, noting the time. I had to pick up my husband from work. In an instant, I imagined backwards through empty relationships, confusing friendships, constant motion as a military brat, as the first kid on our family branch, and all the way back to an egg-chicken paradox: was I lonely because I’ve always felt isolated or was I isolated because I’ve always felt lonely?

No way this could be quick, I smiled at my friend gently. I felt itchy and anxious. I thanked her, hugged her, told her I loved her and watched until she disappeared into the building. I pulled away from the curb, retracted the raw tears wanting to form and fall.

For as long as I can remember.