Being alone

This post is about more than being alone.  It is about being a recluse.  This contains my own musings, and opinions.  It will discuss isolation and mental illness.

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Through stigma, I have been forced into the life of a recluse.  I only go out if I have to.  I do not stay out for very long.

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I live on the terms of other people, terms that they have written for me.

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I have a garden, and without that I would not survive.  I can slip between the trees, and hide beneath the leafy branches.  I can keep cool on a hot day.  It gives me a break from the house.  It helps me to avoid claustrophobia.

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This saddens my parents, that I must spend all day, every day in the house, and have been denied the chance to go out, to create a life separate from them.

They feel sad to see this, and they feel sad that I could not have created a circle of friends.

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I see that they are sad, and that makes me sad all over again.

Human beings are social creatures, and it is only natural that I would want friendship.

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I listen to the radio, read, watch movies, do my Art, and generally I am good at amusing myself.

Being alone is not always hard, sometimes I quite enjoy it.  I like to read.

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But I need my garden.  I need that extra space.  I do not know how I would manage without my garden.  Right now I can look out and see the foxgloves, the sweet pea.

It is 6 am and the World is beginning to wake up.

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