Are you lonesome, tonight?

Evening my little darlings, it has been a long, yet mostly wonderful day.

Today I'm going to talk about my fear of being alone.
Until recently I've been content alone. Only in my deepest of depressions have I felt the need to be surrounded by people. Often I was found happier alone with a needle and thread, or with a decent book and some form of alcoholic beverage. Recently however, the thought of being home alone makes my hands clam up, my chest tightens, I start texting around to see if anyone wants to do anything. I do not want to be alone with my thoughts. Even as I lay in bed, I plug in my earphones and listen to repeats of Peep Show. (V, V, V, good distraction TV guys) ..In order to convey how the fear takes over, I thought it would be easiest to show you in the form of my most recent panic..

Those who know me well know I have recently begun staying with my sister until I feel safe enough to go back solo so I haven't had to face the silence, nor the absence of a daily round up. Believe me when I say, I know how fucking fortunate I am to have such an amazing family who have rallied round to ensure I am in a safe, stable environment. My sister, who I often refer to as an arse, actually tells me now to stop isolating myself. She makes a conscious effort to ask about the day, about any worries I have, what my plans for the following day are, ect.. She understands I'm going one day at a time, and patiently nurtures that. Basically, she listens to my bullshit, and understands me.

Today, after what can only be described as one of my best days spent at work, (bittersweet considering I'm leaving in 11 days) the flat was empty. Upon this discovery I was excited, my main thought being, 'ah I can write in peace.' This state of mind lasted approximately 30 seconds until the all too familiar pitter-patter started up. For those without anxiety imagine, if you will, the sensation when you walk a little too briskly in the winter alone. When you need to catch your breath but do not want to be seen panting or puffing. That feeling in your chest, that's the one. It's the introduction to the decent.

I began pacing the flat, looking for things to do in a bid to keep the metaphorical cockroaches at bay. A distraction that kept me moving. Nothing sprung to my rapidly spiralling mind, so I went down into the pub. (NOT TO DRINK, I AM NOW 15 DAYS SOBER KIDS) I proceeded to potter about, helping out, showing newer staff how to correctly froth milk (call me Mama Barrista) I guess it is also worth mentioning that I'm lucky enough to have some pretty cool characters texting me and keeping me semi-accompanied, bringing me to a state of calm. Relaxed enough to face a return to the flat. (You are the fuckin' bomb, guys)

Now this sounds all rather pithy and not very panicked at all, but this was a good day. I had a lucky escape and I fear when I move back out it isn't going to be as easy. This isn't a one off. This is how I work right now, amazing in company, crumbling alone. I have often been found sitting in the stairway of my own home, for hours. Unable to leave the house, yet unable to fully enter the house, paralysed in limbo. There is no reasoning behind it. No traumatic experience of being home alone. Just anxiety, the nonsensical arsehole. 

I would love to be able to say that this will improve, maybe as I get ever closer to acceptance and serenity, I will grow to embrace the quiet again, but if not then it is another hurdle I'm sure I can face with the ever appreciated support of friends, family and you little angels reading. 

I hope one day, to find a home, where I feel at home. I hope you all find the same, whether that be in a place, a person or a hobby.
As always, Soph. X