I made dinner tonight, and I couldn’t eat it. I sat alone pushing a perfectly good meal around a plate because something was missing.
It wasn’t a food group or a side dish or anything like that – it was companionship.
My appetite was pushed away by the loneliness that had come in quietly and made himself at home. In my silent apartment, my troubled soul betrayed my stubborn mouth and coaxed out the words I fought for months to contain.
I am not okay.
And you know, just typing those words helps. I’m tired of the “brave face.” For one thing, I’m sure it’s causing wrinkles, but most of all, there’s no positive outcome. I can’t fake it until I make it.
I want to make some friends dammit. I want a community.
I need it.
My return to blogging comes with a request. I’m admitting I’m not okay and my pride hurts, but not near as much as the loneliness hurts.
So, if you feel compelled to pray for that, I would appreciate it more than you know.