The Existential Foggy Mirror

My subconscious tells me I somewhat miss being alone for long periods of time. There's nothing wrong with my partner. It's probably just another way my mind can move the target of full happiness from me.

But if I may be granted the obscurity and partial anonymity to reflect on the matter...

I knew myself better when I lived just with roommates, when I didn't tell my plans to someone else daily or necessarily even have any; when I shared my wandering thoughts with just myself and did not have to tailor them to a listener; when I didn't have to think about needing to or how to justify odd or out of character activities.

I didn't feel this way sharing a room with my sister growing up, nor with dorm-mates in my first two years of college. It was irritating not to have guaranteed privacy, but those dynamics still granted me mental solitude.

I haven't recognized this feeling in myself before, but I did feel the relief of what must have been the same unease a year and a half ago when my then-girlfriend broke up with me.

I had been very upset at first, of course, but once I calmed down I realized I was also freed of my emotional tethering.

I was free to decompress, and let the winding vines back into my mind, framing my skull with lush green lines spiraling out thoughts and leaves to hide behind.

Of course, that relationship was tumultuous in ways my relationship now is not; I am not missing any aspect of myself that I can think of nor am I lacking anything else that I could think of.

Yet still, I think I'd feel a somewhat similar decompression if I stayed a week or a few weeks away now, even though my partner is the best person I could ever dream to be with. I can relax and breathe easily knowing I'm not alone in the universe, but I also become a type of tense when I have to continuously account for myself. It is somewhat taxing to verbalize my existence, even though I often do voluntarily. And perhaps the reason I feel obscured to myself is that in tailoring my being for sharing I must sometimes omit what I don't want to share from my consciousness, and suppress awareness of what I am ashamed of, no matter how innocuous those things actually are. The principle is that I am uncomfortable with having my entire being on display most of the time, even when I trust someone what I believe to be completely.

I don't know whether this phenomenon is something everyone buries, whether it's pathological, or whether it's a relic from the Protestant ideal of complete self sufficiency that permeates U.S. culture, but I do know that no matter how many days I have hours alone and no matter how much I introspect, I still have a somewhat tenuous grip on my needs, desires for my life, and emotions.

I'm not sure how to clear the fog in the mirror. Ultimately, I know my lack of self-attunement stems from other things, but it is hard to pinpoint, and as I am now out of college, as I become more of a regular figure in my partner's child's life, as I consider whether I want the existential experience of becoming a parent myself and as I rebuild the closeness of an old friendship, I worry.

I worry that I will lose my escape option of ethically being alone forever. It's just a plan B for mental comfort, I don't actually want to be alone- but still, what cowardice is that? And so I worry again- will I feel like this for the rest of my life?

It's impossible to say; I don't know what my future will look like at all.