a rant about shyness and being an lonely child

Loneliness.



We've all experienced it one time or another, and as I sit here in the library in the middle of lunch break, I'm starting to feel this is my territory. No one knows I'm here. Not even the Librarian, who sees all, hasn't an inkling there is another living presence in the room.  But I like that. And Im used to it.



I'm waiting a few more minutes to get my lunch, waiting till the crowds of Jack Wills clad, made up girls have dispersed and I'm left alone.

Right, my stomach tells me, its time for food.

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As I sit here in this book- filled world, before the keyboard, chomping my way through my plastic cheese sarny, I wonder to myself- why did I do that? I mean, why did I wait to get lunch when no one was around? Do I really think I'm that visually repulsive to people? I was once told I had a "nice face", admittedly from Grandad, but I don't think it's that, no, I blame shyness, a quality which seems to have suddenly been thrown upon me.



I don't really know why, I've always been reserved, was never the life and soul of the party, but bashfulness has suddenly invited itself into my house, not quietly knocking, but banging loudly at the door. Maybe the sudden, unpredicted responsibility of Head Girl helped take a bash to the piñata of self-confidence, which sounds strange I know, but imagine, if you will, whenever something goes wrong, the sea of faces turning at once and taking out the "Head Girl is responsible for EVERYTHING" card and placing it before me.



I wasn't always a people avoider. As a child I had a very colourful imagination, and could easily let my thoughts run wild and envisage fairytale worlds, with pink castles Princes, or paradises of white sand and palm trees, far away from raining London.



Or my brother.
Well, my brother de mes rêves[1] 
Because I am an Only Child. Which brings me on to the main topic of convo.



I hated being lonely. I still do, and to this day i firmly believe that is the one thing my parents got wrong. Totally. Utterly. WRONG



Now, I know full well the other side of the coin. Siblings causing endless unrest and conflict in the family, breaking and tearing peoples lives down the seams. An acquaintance of mine hasn't spoken to her sister for 30 years, not since she left for university, and I see the sadness in that. I really do, genuinely.



But for some, the sibling benefits outweigh the disadvantages, another of my friends for example is caring and friendly and loving toward her younger brother, and the sentiments are reciprocated, admittedly with the odd squabble, but that's life!



If, as I used to dream, I had a brother, (who my 5 year old self named Jack) when I was thrown atop of the pile of rejected girlfriends by a skinny jeaned, Converse-clad boy of 15, or shamefully humiliated in front of classmates about my lack of Mathematical brain cells, I would unashamedly cry on his shoulder, in the knowledge he could understand my woes and teenage tortures. And that's the thing you don't get when you only have parents. I, as previously said, am rather reserved, and have never been one to ask for help. I bottle my problems up inside me and twist the lid on tight. My parents, although more than perfect, aren't the people I go to when I have that kind of problem. That's my friends. But then, I hear you cry, why would you want a brother or sister? Because, I reply, they are 2 completely different groups of people. If I have an issue, I tell friends the story, but they could think me emotional, hormonal, and desert me. Yet, siblings are family, and therefore have the unspoken bond of companionship that never leaves, whatever the petty problem.


I'm pretty convinced there are next to nil advantages about being a single child, though many believe the "old only child stereotype" about millions of pounds worth of lavish gifts being poured onto the one and only.


Bull.


For me anyway.
I will admit though, a classmate of mine is an only child too and is constantly shoving her Gucci wristwatch into our friend's faces, her iPhone positively exploding with photos of her new car- and she's not even legally allowed to start driving yet. Her 16 year old self has yet to discover Primark and her last Facebook status read something about hyperventilating as her Elizabeth Arden eyeliner was running out. Shock horror.


 It's something I cannot and will never be able to understand- the sibling relationship. An ever present argument, or a constant companion, confidant and friend?


You may have thought you're just reading teenage angst, but you're currently delving into the midsts of my mind, my anger management, my way of understanding and calming. Words, expression, sentences- writing is my virtual, unresponsive brother with whom I silently discuss the questions and ideas in life that scuttle through my blonde, mop top head. But I never receive any answers.



So as we come to the final few words and syllables of this rant, and trespass into the unknown depths of conclusion, I ask you - if you're the youngest of 5, or the only one- make merry and rejoice life, because I can rant and rave for twice as long as this, but it will never change a thing- life is what you make it, no matter who you are.

  Jx 


[1] my brother of my dreams.