No man is an island entire of itself

As much as I try to cultivate the persona of some grumpy old misanthrope, I don’t think it’s really me.  I don’t hate people, and I do like to spend time with them.  Some of them.  Some of the time.  I don’t have many friends though.  The few I have are far away, and how long they would want to be friends with me I don’t know.  After all, what does someone like me have to offer them?

It’s a double standard to think that way I know, because I don’t choose friends based on what they can “offer” me.  I just like them and that is that.  Unfortunately I don’t feel very likeable.  What I do feel is afraid.

I’ve given up on the idea of ever having a romantic relationship again, which makes me incredibly sad.  On one hand I’m resigned to being a miserable old cat lady, but it’s not exactly something I feel like I’m choosing for myself.  Some people just have cat-lady-ness thrust upon them.

It’s hard to make new friends.  When I was at school I made friends with classmates, and I did the same at university.  Now I don’t even have a job to force me out of the house.  I’m sure sometimes I can go for days without setting foot outside the door.  There’s nothing out there for me, I live in a town better suited to people 40 years older than I am.  My hobbies are solitary ones.

I feel awkward in the friendships I do have.  I doubt myself.  I second-guess my behaviour.  Am I being too distant?  Am I being too clingy?  Sometimes I feel like I go too far to be a “good friend” and end up as a desperate weirdo instead.  Sometimes I try to reach out to people and end up ignored and hurt.  Maybe sometimes I’ve made people feel that way.

The only solution seems to be to get out of my current dead-end town, which means finding a job somewhere and then finding the courage to actually do it.  And both of those things are in short supply these days.