I think I might do better if I had been raised by wolves.

Or lions, or bears, or other random animals that periodically have taken care of human cubs. Not monkeys, though; they may be our genetic cousins, but they give me the heebie-jeebies.

The point is, I don't think that socializing with people is really working for me. I've given it a good try - 33 years is a definite commitment - but I just don't have the hang of it. Unfortunately, at this point, I've been trained to believe that hanging with other people is the way to go, so it's hard to undo those decades of drilling. Even if I do stop hanging out with people, which it's possible I should, I'll always be wondering if I might be able to do it right with just one more try. It's a pickle!

It's not that my parents socialized me poorly; they're reasonably well-adjusted people (as much as any of us are), I had siblings, they taught me how to be polite and considerate and aware of other people's reactions and all that good stuff. They taught me how to be responsible, and to always try and do your best, and to own up to your errors. They allowed me to experience the whole range of human emotions and didn't try to repress me; they were supportive and loving and encouraging.

Theoretically, all that should have set me up well for being around other people. But despite good coaching, I fear I lack some of the basic talent and inclination for socializing that is essential for success. It's just one of those things, like the gift of being able to invent and execute a musical composition. Some folks have it; I don't.

I just never learned the happy medium of being delighted to be around people if they're available, but not caring so much if they aren't. Billy Joel and I apparently share a problem with moderation: either I must be a social butterfly, the center of attention, popular and beloved by all; or I need a cone of silence where no one will bug me. And I either need to have a deep, intense, consuming relationship with someone, or I'd rather just not bother investing any energy.

Ultimately, that usually leaves me quite lonely, which is the state of being I'm delighted to rediscover these days. My boyfriend kept it at bay for over a year, blessings be upon him; but since his recent temporary relocation 450 miles away, I have re-realized that no one else is up for providing the constant attention and affection I seem to need for my emotional security. Since he left, I've been in an increasingly desperate search for substitute social tokens of the admiration and approbation he used to provide through his presence; my lack of success has left me highly insecure and irritable.

It is, of course, not the fault of my social circle any more than my parents; they're all busy leading normal social lives and they don't realize that there's a crazy woman moving among them. (It's better that way ... they'll feel safer.) Who but a crazy would expect that all her friendships be intensely intimate and constantly involved? Who would expect to have other people appear and disappear as her emotional desires dictate? Who gets mad at not having an all-access pass to other people's homes and lives, and jealous of the time they spend with other people when I'm not included?

The answer, of course, is me - but we've already stipulated that I'm a nutter-butter, so those questions are clearly rhetorical. It's obvious I have a problem with boundaries. And repeatedly expecting others to accommodate my invasive neediness and then being angry when they remind me (always kindly, subtly) that their lives are not all about me ... that's got to be a close match for the definition of insanity.

At any rate, the recurring battle between my crazy and the real world is just getting to be exhausting. I can manage it in professional settings, where I only have to act appropriate for discrete, purposeful periods of time. But in my off-hours, I really don't have the stamina for that emotional facade; at some point, my true nature will start leaking out, and in case the dam breaks, it's best that I be in a controlled environment where the damage can be minimized. My bedroom has proven exceptionally durable.

I do have to say, I enjoyed the feeling of belonging - I had stopped wondering so much if I was saying or doing the right thing, if I was overstaying my welcome, if I fit in. I liked it when being me was relatively effortless, and fun. I shall truly miss it; but as they say, all things must come to an end.