Solitary Confinement

I've been staring at the computer screen for nearly two hours now. (For those of you who don't know, I watch most of my tv and movies online since I don't pay for cable.)..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />



I'm watching the L word. I use to love this show... use to download it the day it came out... use to fall in love with the characters.

I know that is stereotypical lesbianism... love the show about lesbians. But I do. Did. Something.

I use to watch it with my friends, we'd all pile onto a bed or couch and watching the happenings of that weeks scandal.

I use to absorb myself in it's culture and love the life I myself was leading. My ex girlfriend and I talked of character likenesses... of our life verses theirs.



Then we broke up, and I moved back home. I took the breakup horrifically bad, parts of me are still open wounds and it has been over a year. I stopped watching the show.



But here I sit. Watching an episode for the first time since, feeling an ache in my stomach, a knot in my throat, and a piece missing from my soul.

Is it because I miss my connection with her? Maybe.

Is it that I miss a connection with who I was then? Yes.



I live in a small little town, small enough to be some story book fantasy of hell. Everyone knows everyone. We have one stoplight in the county.



At first I didn't care, my life revolved around breathing and sleep. Slowly I crawled out of that and started to tentatively reach out with my feelers... testing the water and trying to decide if that particular day would allow me to go outside and be around people without cracking.

As time passes the numb ball of pain has receded and I live. I work. I... socialize on a level of acquaintances mixed with random spurts of honest deep friendship.

I miss connection. I miss depth and warmth. I miss being able to speak at length about books and movies and the happenings of the world. I miss being a part of something.

I've always been a very open gay person. I've been a leader, been a strong hold for the unknown. I was deemed the matriarch on my college campus - as if everyone 'wishing' to come out must meet me, be passed some invisible baton. Drink wine. Be welcomed and all would be right.



Yet here I sit. Alone in the loneliness of solitude. There are no lesbians here. There are no people to feel one with, to connect with, to understand the sheer facts that heterosexual men and women can not.



You know how they say that solitude tends to bring out the absolute truth of a person. That if left alone long enough, you will be able to know yourself through and through.

I'm scared that I will know myself, and then fade. Can that happen?

Can the pure essence of a person vanish if it is never used... never seen... never coaxed and comforted, cuddled and soothed?

Does ones love merely lose hope and die?



I don't know. I feel like I might have been isolated for so long that I won't be able to hold myself to the culture... the lifestyle... the love if ever returned.



I'm a person. I still feel that. I have morals and values, a love of my family, a passion for books and music... a deep understanding of how I view the world. But... has part of me simply given up and receded? Will any amount of coaxing be able to drawl it back to the surface when the time strikes? Or am I simply going to have to come to terms with my solitude... and dredge forward alone into nothingness?





Damn HBO... I blame them.





On a completely opposite note, I am increasingly perplexed by the houses across the street from me. I've lived in my new house for 20 days... every night I sit on my porch and smoke a cigarette and have noticed one thing.

Three houses. Three identical, side by side houses. One is always dark. One is always lit. And the one in the middle has lights on upstairs, but never lights on downstairs.

It makes me fearful. I don't know why.


*Sighs*

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