if you didn't want to be alone you wouldn't be. Likewise, if you wanted to be happy, you'd be happy. As a matter of fact, whatever you want, you can have. This sounds like one of those insipid motivational tapes, and that's intentional—even those contain some truth. (I'm even deliberately using the second person. But reader, don't be offended. I am talking to myself here, and you are a priviledged eavesdropper.)
You could, if you really wanted, have someone nice to sleep with, like Eric there. Not someone like you've had; someone acquired via your 'This will do' attitude; someone like Daniel, who you loved for the genuine tragedy of his life, which he tended and kept like a prized rosebush, and he let it make you bleed, too. But genuine tragedies are not rare. We all have had them. You have, too. What's unfortunate is keeping them eon's beyond their time, like you kept that stud's T-shirt long after it lost its special scent. The real tragedy happens when you deliberately choose the wrong things to hang on to.
you don't want to let go, huh? You're settling like a fossil into the clay, and it's easier to stay put. It reminds me of this line from Billy Joel's 'Innocent Man' (yes, I guess it's an oldie now): "it's easier to hate than to wait any more." In fact it reminds me of the whole goddamn song...
You like being sad, don't you? That's not meant as a put down at all. It's just a kind observation. You know, all the psycho-drama is bullshit. It's not complicated at all. It's basic, primal even. It's Timothy Hutton and Mary Tyler Moore in Ordinary People. It's love and emotional pain. It's fear, and no one is to blame, everybody's just afraid. Everybody.
You're nothing special. I mean, you are, and you aren't. You think clinging to your misery makes you special? Not. Everybody and their brother has been there, done that, and moved on. You are just you, a single point among gazillions in the Pointillism of reality. Get over yourself. And when you get your feet back on the ground, and get back in touch with the real world, then...
you can't even consider 'then', can you? Sometimes you can, when the terror is revealed for what it is, irrational fear. But most of the time, no, it's all too overwhelming, and in disgust you turn away to some diversion, like this computer, while the real world continues to turn beneath your wandering artificial orbit.
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