A Christmas tree, a TV, and a movie

Part of me doesn't know where to start tonight.  It may be because there's only one sentence to say:  I hate being alone.  I hate having no one to rely on.  I hate having no one to spend my evenings with.  Or my daytimes,  or my nighttimes.  No one to help me with either the simplest or the most complex tasks.

I felt it when I was struggling to lug out my fake Christmas tree, the tree that was purchased because I can't manuever a cherished real tree myself.  I so wanted a man's strength to help carry it, and someone else to delight in its place in our home.  I felt it as I sat in my buried car last weekend, and next as I sat in a filthy tow truck with a strange man.  I felt it as I sat in the movie theatre alone last weekend.  I felt it as I looked at a massive television in my backseat and had not the first clue of how I was to move it,  and no one near to call.  I felt it as I cooked and ate another delicious dinner tonight - alone.  I felt it when I ran out of quarters doing laundry.  It's not about being here, in an apartment, instead of in a home; I've had that wrong all these years.  It's about not having anyone to share a home with.

I feel it within seconds of waking each morning.   I feel it when I come home from work and have no one to talk about my day with.  I feel it during the long evening hours when there's no one to eat with, no one to so much as watch the news or a movie with, and I feel it each night during the hours I avoid going to bed.

I have been single for four and a half years now.  Being in a relationship has always meant I have to lose myself. It means I give up all freedom, all needs, all desires and goals.  For all my life, I've had this habit of trying to love men who really don't care to pay me any attention at all, and I finally understand why.  I also finally feel strong enough to know that I wouldn't let that be my reality ever again, and yet, that reality has never felt farther away.

I know no one wants to hear it.  Honestly, I've even stopped talking to God about it.  How many times can you cry the same thing every night?  I've run out of new words to set forth the same desires, and I'm out of insight. And if I'm tired of asking, tired of pouring my heart out, how tired is He of listening?  I am all run out of false hope, of try, and of give.  Patience?  Faith?  Foolish, practically comical concepts to me these days.

I wish for a best friend.  Just a someone to walk through life with, to talk with, to do something of good together before the journey is over.  Someone to help me carry a TV.  Someone to watch a movie on the couch with me.

Such simple wishes.  Never did I imagine they'd be so futile.