You are not alone. . . in your need to be alone.

Today's topic is something that has been brewing for a very long time: the desperate need for alone time, and the devastating symptoms that arise when that need is not met.

This is something of utmost importance to me, a very personal topic, and I have lots of emotion tied up in it, so I warn you now: my presentation may be chaotic. Be prepared for rough edges, grammatical flubs, and biting honesty. But I need to write this, to get it out, because maybe, just maybe, it might resonate with other people (and certainly not just fellow writers).

The inability to get time to myself, preferably in my own place, has been a recurring theme in my life. The frustration of tapping only a small fraction of my potential simply for lack of personal space in which to move, breathe, and process. It seems that everything in my life is stopped up, clogged, by this one thing: never getting time to myself. My flow of energy, my ability to process, my creativity: it all feels blocked. So often, I head off to a coffee shop to get away. And no, the irony of going to a public place for privacy is not lost on me.

It seems ridiculous, and even to myself it often sounds like nothing more than an excuse for failure. It seems whiny, petty, and ungrateful. It sounds like I'm just making up a need. I have, after all, a comfortable home, good food, and health. Why should I complain just because somebody else is always and constantly in my space?

And yet… And yet… Sometimes I do get time to myself, and it is like drinking a tall glass of milk when my body is starved for protein. I fill back up, come back to life, and begin to breathe again.

Of course, often it doesn't begin that way, especially if it's been a long time since I got alone time. Then I often have a period in which I feel kind of stunned, and am reminded of that passaged in A Course In Miracles that talks about prisoners, newly released, not immediately jumping up. It takes time to regain energy. I often must take time to zone out and wander aimlessly before buckling down to do all the wonderful things I vowed to do when I got time to myself. Sometimes I just drop in sudden exhaustion, my body feeling heavy, as if I had just finished running a marathon. Sometimes I get angry at myself for not better utilizing the precious solitude that I had so fervently asked for.

This is a beginning stage, I have come to believe, in which the mind resets. It can be marked by feelings of confusion and listlessness. Emotions, long repressed, may rise to the surface. I watch TV (again, chastising myself for wasting precious alone-time), and weep at the least provocation.

During this stage, I stumble about in confusion as my mind gets its bearings.

And yet, beneath all this confusion, a giddy joy wells up. An excitement. A feeling of freedom over no longer being on call. If I fall into a heavy slumber, it will be supremely restful.

Then, gradually, a new phase begins, in which I really start my return to life. I breathe: fully, freely, and joyously. Where before I was quick to weep, now I readily laugh. Sometimes I stomp about the house ranting, swearing, and talking to people who are not there (like Willy Loman in Death Of A Salesman). Or maybe I decompress like Charlie Sheen in Apocalypse Now. And yes, frustrated weeping may well be mixed with the maniacal laughter. What happens, in short, is all that repressed stuff comes bubbling to the surface with a vengeance. This is the stage of catharsis. It's like lancing a boil and getting rid of old poison.

During this cathartic stage, I breathe and move and laugh and scream. I say all the words that I maybe bit back before. I return to life. Sometimes food, even the simplest cuisine, will taste amazing, because it is a meal eaten in freedom. Music will often sound glorious. Or maybe I will simply sit and soak up the silence like a sponge.

Then, after letting go of so much stuff, I begin to fill back up again, with new energy. There is an interesting dynamic in alone-time. Just as one can often feel most alone within a crowd, I find myself most connected to everybody, everywhere, while by myself. I do my real work, my authentic work, while alone. This, essentially, is what I crave most: to do the work I came to this world to do.

I write this rambling entry in hopes that somebody else will relate and maybe take comfort from it. Sometimes I've felt horribly selfish for wanting the luxury of a few hours to myself. But I've come to see it as essential to functioning fully and creatively and powerfully. I feel like there's a lot of material I missed with this post, but I'll get around to fixing that soon. All I need is a bit of time to myself.