He woke up before his alarm had a chance to crescendo. Why even have that feature if the slightest sound from the alarm was enough to wake him up? Just in case he managed to sleep through the noise, perhaps. He snoozed the alarm and lay on his back, waking up with his eyes wide shut in deep reflection about his love life. After all, what else does one spend one’s time alone thinking about? It was only natural that he found himself thinking about the futility mingled with desperation that he shouldered day in and day out. He considered how he had skipped in and out of interest in various women he encountered, musing on the reason for the instability. Maybe it was a weird vibe or her being too self-interested or him being too insecure or maybe it all didn’t matter that much anyways and he would be fine with the first one who’d have him.
It was his loneliness that caused him to drift from one person to the next. At this, he put both his hands behind his head, eyes alert now as they gazed past the ceiling. He saw now how naïve he was in thinking that he was actually able to love someone else; how could he when he failed to even love himself? That was the reason he chased here and there, after all. If he could just see that someone else could see something good in him, then he’d be happy. Then, he’d know that he meant something to someone. Then, he’d realize that he was worthy of being loved. Even though he had friends and family, it was his loneliness that knew him best, and it was his loneliness that he loved. It let him push his problems onto other people, projecting a lack of understanding and empathy onto those around him; loneliness let him comfortably deceive himself into thinking that he was taking the high road by suffering their misunderstanding and “appreciating that they tried.”
What could he do about it? If he was lonely with his own company, adding more people who weren’t him, couldn’t think like him, didn’t know enough about him would only serve to magnify the alienation. He kept laying in bed, dreading the masks he would need to put on just to get through to the next time he would be laying in bed. It was never about the other people; a person like him would never be good enough for someone else. He didn’t wish himself on anyone at this point. All he could hope for was the day that he’d learn to just be okay with who he was. Maybe then he could look for something more.