Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Trains

I'm sitting on a train. I love trains. I always have. The rhythm soothes me, and the hum of the engine is comforting. But I think it's more than that. All my favourite places to be, like the central markets, trains and trams, the beach, cafes, etc have this attribute I call public loneliness.
Public loneliness is, as those of you who are literate might have guessed, simply the state of being alone in public.
For me, it's something I find completely necessary.
I'm an extrovert. Not in the sense of loving public speaking, or clowning around, although I do enjoy those things from time to time. In the sense of needing people around me to fuel me. If I am left alone for more than a day or so, I go mad. In fact whenever I am alone, my feelings take over. Sometimes that's okay, and a good thing. But sometimes, like these last few weeks, I just have too many feelings to handle all at once. When I'm alone they just burble up, and suffocate me.
While being with people is a good thing, it is also difficult. Because I can't realistically let people see what's going on. Some friends, yes sure. But not everyone. That would be chaos. And so I have the public version of me. She hasn't been working well recently. She's quieter, and more distracted. But, she is still protecting me. Perhaps too well. She doesn't let me feel any emotions at all any more. To prevent me from crying in front of people, she also has to stop me laughing. She just has to stop me feeling at all. Tonight I fell off a porch and dropped and smashed my phone. If she let my emotions work, I would be embarrassed and upset about that. But no, there's no emotions.
So there are my two options. I can drown in emotions, or have none at all.
Until I get into the public alone space. It's the perfect mix of being able to be quiet and think, but still having to hold it all together.
I can't break down and cry, or shake, like I might do in private.
But I also don't have to talk or laugh or express any emotion at all.
The strangers around me unknowingly hold me together, while I gather myself.
It's a blessing.

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