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9:01 p.m. - October 10, 2001 Alone is something completely different than lonely. That's why there are introverts and then there are sociophobics. That's not the best example, but everyone knows the difference between chilling in your room with a good book and some music; and just being in your room, staring at the wall, wishing someone was there with you. It all has to do with the desire. Some people can handle being alone for long, extended periods of time. Hermits, for example. They live in little secluded houses in places nobody else wants to be, like Siberia, and they kind of, just, stay there. And are happy about it. I am not one of those people. If I were to move to a little cottage in Siberia, with beautiful nature abounding all around, I would A) develop schizophrenia so I could at least talk to voices that don't, technically, exist, B) fashion a phone and a computer out of twigs and snow and keep in touch that way; when I'm real good at the construction thing, I'd build a plane and fly out of there, C) Go insane, and D)Kill myself. Of course, there's the slight change I don't know what I'm talking about, and actually once I got there I'd be perfectly happy and fulfilled. Doubtful, though. Even now, surrounded by friends, I'm lonely. It's a feeling like nobody wants to touch you, like you're disgusting somehow, like when Chelsea and I yell, "EWWW IT'S :insert one of our names here:!!" We're kidding. But if I had to put an image to a thought, I'd say I feel like the entire potential romantic pool of people in the world are pointing at me, going "EWWW IT'S HANNAH!" Ooof. My stomach hurts. Maybe eating a plate of gyros, a patty melt, cheesecake, fries, breaded mushroom, and a chocolate shake in five minutes straight wasn't a good idea.
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