How do you miss something that was never in your life?

I've been toying with the idea of loneliness these last few months. How people can be fulfilled in almost every aspect of their lives, but still yearn and pine after an experience they've lost or someone they've never had. How people can obsess and pore over the potential they never saw through to the end or the memories they turn to every night before they fall asleep.

It's part of the human experience, this loneliness. We are social creatures; we rely on other people; we are none of us an island. We feel loneliness so that we are pushed to connect with others around us. We feel loneliness so we can survive and to survive, we need other people.

Every disaster movie has one common element: no one survives on their own. In every one of those movies, there's a channel of people who work together to kill the zombies, destroy the aliens, survive against the elements, make it out alive. We need to believe that we are never alone; that someone is always with us. We are not meant to be alone, no matter how much we wish we were.

I've been fortunate; I met two of my best friends when I was just six years-old. Not many people can boast that they've not only managed to maintain these relationships, but have been lucky enough to grow alongside their friends. I've seen Nicole and Char change before my eyes, just as they've seen me do the same. Every insane adventure, they were there to witness.

I've been fortunate; I met two more of my best friends when I was going through the most aggravating time of my life: adolescence. Not many people survive high school pettiness or jealousy, but we did. They saw me and continued to love me when I was at my ugliest. I was too afraid to eat and obsessing over the only thing I felt I could control: my food intake. I'm amazed, even now, that I wasn't successful in pushing them away. I wanted, so so badly, for them to leave me alone, but they clung and I'll always love them all the more for it. My precious girls. I love them so much.

I've been fortunate to meet people through my awkward twenties. And some of these relationships have meant so much to me, have taught me so much about who I am and what kind of friend I am. These relationships have taught me to stand up for myself. These relationships have taught me to be assertive. These relationships have pushed me to see the world!

I've been fortunate to have two doting parents (who are helplessly in love with one another) and two wonderful sisters who see me as their own child (no matter how much it annoys me). And our family continues to grow! From my four fake sisters and their wonderful spouses, to all the nieces and nephews, I have so many family members. Near and far.

I've been fortunate, period. And I am truly thankful for all of these relationships. But I know that something is missing. The first time I felt this absence was when I was 14 and heartbroken; my shame eclipsing the dreadful loneliness I felt. I felt it again a second time the morning I left Montreal. Something deep inside was calling for help, terrified that I would never return to La Belle Province. And I tried so hard to ignore the loneliness both times. I was successful sometimes, but not always. That tiny lonely voice would beckon me most days; it would beckon me every night.

The youngest in my family by nine years, I've always been an expert at being alone. My favourite pastimes are solo activities: writing and reading. As I've grown into the woman I am today, I mastered going to movies and concerts and coffee dates by myself. I'm still learning, but I'm practically at expert-level when it comes to being alone.

And yet I sometimes wake up with this feeling that something is missing. I don't know what this missing piece could be, but it's a feeling I've known fairly well since the age of 15. It's not a feeling you can forget. And maybe it's a feeling I've felt all through my life; after all, I was more only child than youngest of three. I've always been alone and that's just the way things have been for me.

But I can't shake this awful feeling and it's confusing and frustrating, but, most of all, it makes me feel pathetic. I mean, how can I miss something I've never had? Sure, I've witnessed it every day since I was born through my parents. I've seen it play out between my sisters and their husbands. I've seen it in my friends' smiles when they look at their partners.

Love.

I've felt it, sure. But has anyone felt it for me the way I'll begrudgingly admit I've always dreamed that someone would feel for me? I know men have been attracted to me. I know men have liked me. But love? Has a man ever loved me? Has a man ever loved me back? Because love shouldn't count if you're the only one who feels that way.

I have been fortunate. I love the people in my life. I love my life. I love myself. But I can't ignore this feeling that something's missing. And I have a sneaking suspicion I know what that something is. And despite wanting to remedy this situation for myself, I don't exactly know what I want. I've been independent for too long. I love my friends and family and make time for them. I love volunteering and make time for it. I love spending time by myself and make time for myself.

Part of me wants to feel close to someone, but another part doesn't, so which part do I listen to? The one I'm an expert at ignoring, or the one that's scared? Scared of what a romantic relationship could do to me. Scared of getting attached. Scared of getting hurt. But, more importantly, scared of hurting someone. I fear that being in a romantic relationship could lead to me hurting someone I care about and that is terrifying to me. I loathe causing people any sort of distress and if I were to hurt someone, I would hate myself for it.

So I'm at a stalemate: to date or not to date.

That is the question.