Afraid of living alone for good? Why it may not be so scary after all
I've got to stop inhaling big chunks of food, or I'll choke to death. Alone.
And—don't laugh—but being alone in a house is too scary for me. Every noise means a rapist, every creak a chainsaw killer. That's why I've only lived in apartments or condos. Neighbors can always hear me scream.
And surely we can buy medic alerts, those "Help! I've fallen and can't get up!" doohickeys? Press a button and help will come. Install grab bars by toilets and nonskid mats in the shower. But what if we're knocked unconscious or too disoriented to find that button to push?
That's when my inner cynic snipes: Married people die, too! And often they get hurt at inopportune times or in isolated places.
Loneliness is the negative part of being alone; solitude is the positive. Most days, I am able to enjoy the solitude, and actively prefer it to most situations I see around me: bitter marriages, bickering roommates, unhappy adult children living with resentful parents. People often stay in miserable situations due to money, or lack thereof—and it's true that living alone requires a level of luck and/or affluence not everyone can afford. I have one stove, one refrigerator, one toilet. That's a lot of resources for just one person.
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