I don't know how not to be alone.

I have faith that I'm learning. I have faith that someday I'll be both worthy of and capable of trust. I believe in my ability to forge truly emotionally intimate relationships with disappointing, hurtful and careless human beings just like myself. I believe in my ability to make peace with human nature and to allow myself to love people who are not perfect. Even me. Me first. I also believe it's going to get worse before it gets better, and it's going to hurt. Maybe no more or no less than being alone, but differently. I'm scared. I'm terrified. I'm usually only seconds away from breaking and running, but I'm getting the hang of standing my ground. I'm no good at confrontation, and I don't think I want to get much better at it, but I'm getting better at not complying if I don't agree. At not just turning my back to avoid seeing what I don't want to happen. At being able to resist with neither rage nor revulsion.

What I want next is to be able to ask for clarification, for communication. I'm so well practiced at walking away from what I can't understand on my own. If needing help to understand things, even very complicated things, is something you've been taught to be ashamed of because the people who should have taught you were ashamed to admit they couldn't teach you, you shrink from asking questions. Anything that needs clarification makes you feel dirty, like the worst little girl in the world, like a traitor, like an idiot who doesn't understand because she won't even try to think for herself. You just walk away, you smile and pretend you get it and you leave. You close one more of the tiny doors to your heart and you try not to feel it. One more miniscule window that intimacy could have climbed into gets boarded up, because you can't bear to be vulnerable to something so dangerous as asking for clarification, as admitting you don't know something you should have already taught yourself.