Alone

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I like to be alone. I don’t know if I like to be alone more than other people, but I know I like to be alone more than I get to be.

It happens most often when my five-year-old is talking or goofing off inches from my face, an urge to teleport to…well, anywhere.

Now, my ignoring skills are pretty impressive–like a super power if you ask my husband–but they are not enough to get the children to actually disappear, and ignoring is not the same as being alone.

Alone. Sometimes I need it more than I need sleep or food or sex. I don’t exactly need to think, but I need to not talk or touch or smell. Being alone is an escape from all of the sensations of living so that I can actually feel something deeper than the pinprick of the every day.

I need to feel or it’s like life spills over and burns, and that’s what keeps the scars from healing.

One of my favorite things to do alone is to draw. I’ve drawn a few different things, but mostly I like to draw butterflies. Since high school, I’ve been fascinated with the symbolism of change in butterflies, the beauty that emerges from the silence. It happens like that in my mind while I draw the wings–some clarity in my life emerges from that silence, clarity from being alone.

What do you like to do to be alone?


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