I can do a lot of things alone: move across the country, visit new places, go to the beach, have breakfast at a new restaurant, watch a movie and hopefully go on vacation (pending—trip booked, we’ll see how that goes), etc. etc.

It's not my preference, for the most part I’d rather have company, but schedules don’t always line up and there are only so many people to hit up. I ask around until everyone responds with their regrets. I’ll still go, because I want to—so I go alone. Not having company has never stopped me. (Except for a drink... I never drink alone, that’s how alcoholics are born. Except for wine... wine doesn’t count.)

It takes a lot of self-assurance for me to handle being alone. I have to convince myself that someone would love to be sitting across from me at breakfast, willing to order pancakes so I can get something savory and still get a sweet fix (or vice versa, I’m flexible). I figure I won’t always be on an airplane solo and eventually someone will be there to request a cup of ice for me after beverage service comes by and I’ve already fallen asleep. I tell myself that the other side of the bed won’t always be empty and someday there will be a hand to hold.

But I have to persuade myself these things often and there is no proof in sight that I am correct. Faith is dwindling (at the moment).

I’m tired of being my own cheerleader. I’m exhausted fighting loneliness.

You know what? I’m a cool fucking person, someone is missing out.

Loneliness and extreme self-confidence are constantly battling it out. COOL AS FUCK—STILL LONELY.

*Trap remix of tiny violins playing* (100 points if you laughed at this)