My Loneliness and the Even Darker Place of Nothingness

"I’m just going to accept my loneliness. And I’m gonna go to an even darker place of nothingness from an even farther, more extreme nothingness, on my own." - Tommy Corn, I Heart Huckabees

That's a powerfully dark, strange line that has been on my heart this entire week. I watched I Heart Huckabees on Monday night and this line comes from the scene in which Tommy (Mark Wahlberg) walks in on Albert (Jason Schwartzman) and Catarine (Isabelle Huppert) after what appears to be a sexual romp in the hotel bed. Tommy, whose wife just took his daughter and left him, falls into a world of loneliness, which only intensifies when the philosopher he has clung to and invested his thoughts and emotions into has sex with his friend, Albert.

As a Christian, I know that I cannot honestly repeat this line; for one thing, I know that even when I am lonely, I am never alone. Secondly, there's no such thing as nothingness -- there is only our thoughts and emotions which devalue the meaningfulness of everything that surrounds us.

However, I can empathize with him.

For most of my life, I've been lonely. I didn't have many friends as a kid, I grew up in a cult that discouraged communication with the outside world (and that was during my awkward teenage years, which are difficult enough as they are), girls have never really been interested in me and all the friends I did (and do) have are either married or in long-term relationships. I've always been everyone's afterthought: either I was on the outskirts of society because I didn't fit in or because nobody wanted me. When I did start making friends, the "And then there's Drew" factor came with it.

The "And then there's Drew" factor is an occurrence in which a friend will invite all of their friends over and then remember "Oh! And then there's Drew!"

Always the afterthought.

Currently, I have a girlfriend that I never see and rarely speak with. For a person whose love language is quality time, this has been incredibly difficult on me, but I've pressed on and broke on through to the other side. But, lately... It's been more difficult than usual. I couldn't be there when her dad was in the hospital, I couldn't be there for her birthday, I couldn't be there any day during the summer, I can't be there now -- not because of my schedule, but because of her's. She simply does not have time for me. And, you know -- that's not necessarily her fault. But I spend my nights alone, everynight, sending text messages into the darkness.

I could hang out with friends, but I always feel weird about it, and that is for a couple of reasons: 1) all of my close friends are either married, are in long-term relationships and a) I hate being the third wheel and b) I always feel weird taking away a couple's quality time by hanging around, 2) they live far away, 3) I don't believe in "people just to hang out with" friends (we're either best friends or nothing, sorry), 4) even when I do get over my worry of being the third wheel, some of my closest friends now have babies and so they REALLY don't have time for me. The Leighs, the Nashes and the Seelingers all have children now.

So, here I am, on Saturday night, sitting in front of the computer typing up a blog, listening to my family watch a movie in the other room, arguing with my girlfriend via text message and wondering what the hell happened to my life that made me this way? What events transpired in my personal history that made me endure this overwhelming feeling of loneliness and why is so easy for me to fall into this trap of loneliness?

I could blame my parents for leaving me home alone when I was a little kid and I had to fend for myself. I could blame a couple of my exes for cheating on me. I could blame my girlfriend for never spending time with me. I could blame the UPC for not allowing me to hang out with people outside the church. I could blame my stepmom for picking and choosing who I could and couldn't hang out with. I could blame kids in my adolescent years for thinking I was a weirdo and ignoring me. I could blame the worship leaders I've played with for never valuing my input. I could blame everyone who never thanked me for the times I bent over backwards for them.

I could blame anyone I want, but in the end, it always boils down to me.

I feel lonely because I don't love myself. I feel neglected because I neglect myself. I feel rejected because I reject myself.

I'm a mess of a self-saboteur.