Mission Control, We've Made Contact.

It's interesting how, no matter how many people fill a room, it's so easy to feel so incredibly lonely. Many of us spend the majority of our lives in relatively little company-- two or three close friends, maybe three family members. Most of the time, even in a crowded library, it's simply (to follow the saying) me, myself, and I (is it pathetic that I kind of hope that somebody will approach me to initiate a conversation?). I eat lunch alone, I work out alone, I sit in my room alone. Even in my crowded apartment, I'll feel like the most desolate person. However, singularity does have its many advantages. Meditation in a group is generally unproductive. You can't really look inside yourself if the eyes of ten others could be upon you, or at least I can't. Maybe that's just me. I am a little paranoid after all. Neither can you really get anything purposeful accomplished, academically speaking at least. I can't read a novel with three other people, nor could I write this posting without being alone.
The thought of groups usually stresses me out. Group work? Gross. Ironically though, once I'm actually in the group situation, I'm not bothered. Unless it's a party with over fifteen people, then I get a little overwhelmed. I know this sounds terrible, but the worst group situation might possibly be church events. I love the people, but it's incredibly bewildering when you love everyone and you want to say hi to everyone and ask how they're doing and your friends are trying to talk to you and there's that cute guy in the corner you've always wanted to talk to but there's so much noise and if you don't talk to that girl you haven't seen for two weeks you risk never talking to her again or maybe even hurting her feelings and those sorority girls seem so judgmental so should you try talking to them at all? Ugh, then I just unzip a Sarah-sized hole in the earth, crawl in, and sit in the fetal position. But, when it's just a few close friends, it can be the best thing ever.
Is it sad that I almost feel like I have to keep a time-clock to hang out with people? I punch my card, go get coffee with two friends, clock out, and get back to my life as an individual. I earned some overtime by going out every night last weekend. Long vacations though can be the most depressing time ever. One summer, in middle school, I didn't see anybody. I saw my family at night, but during the day I was alone. I didn't talk to any of my friends. I left the face of the earth and played video games for hours on end. As a consequence, I fell into a deep depression and almost began counseling sessions.
We thrive on human contact. I don't understand how hermits can do it, unless they have multiple personalities. Granted, I don't understand socialites either. Silence can be golden.
When I haven't seen anybody for a while, I scour Facebook and pretend I have a social life.  Perhaps that's why such a majority of the population can spend hours on Facebook at a time. They look for reassurance that there are other people in the world. They post their statuses because they have no real person to tell about their day, or that incredibly delicious coffee drink and scone they indulged in.  Alone. I usually get annoyed by Facebook-- not only because it wastes my time, but also because I am reminded that other people are out there being social, taking pretty pictures, and apparently having a good time. Yes, yes, this is rather hypocritical and shallow on my part, and again it's one of my many faults that I'm working on. Sadly, though, I've always felt like being outgoing and purposefully surrounding yourself by friends at all hours of the day is only a matter of social convention. We form groups because that's what people are supposed to do. The cool people always seem to be surrounded by people, right? But then again, I think the true reason ought to be, and perhaps is, that we converge simply because we enjoy the company of others. They are stress reducers. They keep our mind off of the wrongs of the world and our obligations to work and school. My depression stems from my forming a black bubble of terror and anguish that grows the longer I allow my mind to eat away at itself. Seeing other people reminds us how to be quick-witted and how to empathize. Seeing other people reminds us how to be human.