I am so tired of being lonely. I don’t know how else to say it. Normally I try and be grammatically correct and not be to self-pitying but today, today it just hurts to much.

I have this pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat and I’m fighting back a well of tears. I want to eat chocolate and bitch about everything or just fight. My anxiety is through the roof and I hate that I have nobody to talk to about it. I don’t have anyone I can just call “hey, I’m having a little loneliness today, but your making it better.”

I’m actually beginning to resent writing. It has become such a habit to write my feelings out and send them into the multi verse in hopes that one day, sooner rather than later, just one person would get ahold of me and communicate with me regularly. And by regularly I mean more than once a week, as in they reply to emails and we have regular phone conversations. You know, someone to have a relationship with, and not an artificial relationship where I can’t be me, but a real one where I can say things like “I miss you and I thought about you” and who I can be provocative with and flirty.

Instead the silence is deafening. I scream in my head at God, I don’t know why either. Why He allows me to be so Goddamn lonely, that’s why. I have like three people I can talk too outside of prison, pretty lucky by most standards. But one is in a weird situation and contact is damn near impossible. The other two are very formal. Well, except my friend Jim. He is in his 70’s, nice guy but…I barely know him.

Why can’t I just have a boyfriend? Or, hell, a girlfriend? Someone I can depend on, say I love you to. Someone to think about.

Instead I have this ache in my gut that is anger, self-pity, disgust, depression, and angst all rolled up into this one moment and its sitting at the center of my chest where its utterly miserable to work around. I’ve worked out all I can, my body is tired, so now its back to this…writing. Which, I am scowling even as I write this because it will go utterly unresponded to. I may as well be journaling and storing it in a book under my bed.

For 7 years I have been in prison, for 7 years I have been praying, begging, writing, reaching out, changing, and then cycling in and out of loneliness and hope while I tell myself things like “you’ve made your bed, now lay in it” and “God has a plan, He knows best.” But the truth of the matter is I’m in prison and just really easy to ignore and I just can’t effin stand it today. Thanks for letting me release a little bit of steam.

With Angst

Jeff Utnage