Wish I had a McDreamy, but no. Not mine.
So now she's all alone all the time. Her insomnia makes it a thousand times worse. She stays up in bed all hours of the night, wonders of the loneliness ever lets up. She hopes so, because she just can't handle this constant throbbing in the far corner of her mind, in the very center of her mangled heart. She's a doctor, so she should know about illness affecting vital organs like the heart and the brain. Medical school didn't quite cover the effects of dreamy doctors on the body and mind.
You may be sick, but at least you have me. I'll never leave you.
The more she lies alone in her mother's house, the more she believes what people always say about loneliness. You're alone long enough, and you'll seek out any sort of company. But no matter what, no matter how magical or kind that company is, it'll never be enough. So eventually, you'll still be lonely, but not only that; you'll also be alone.
That rule of loneliness has to be the only reason she made her awful mistake with George. He could have fixed it all. She'd wanted him to be able to do that for her. George had always been a fine fix for broken hearts and aching heads, but she supposes that sex isn't a miracle cure after all. It only made the loneliness worse, because she knew as she cried that George was just down the hall, suffering from the same incurable illness.
You didn't have to let him go. You don't have to feel like this. It's your fault as much as it is his.
She considers how her loneliness seems to be shaped like a circle. It never ends, and just when she thinks her mathematical mind has figured out its dimensions, she's reminded of that endless decimal, and the throbbing continues. Christina thinks she's silly. She doesn't see how examining and analyzing depression and emptiness can possible help her out of her disease, and maybe she's right. Thinking about the pain isn't any better than attempting to ignore it.
Jesus, Meredith. You did this to yourself.
Perhaps loneliness can be lopsided at times. A lopsided circle. That seems right, as she stares out at the midnight darkness, imagining fairy boats gliding across the sky. At Christmas, for example, her throbbing absolutely rips and tears at her chest, but when she's pretending not to flirt with Derek Shepard, the pain can subside to a dull ache. But she still can't have her fairy boat dream, so that dullness never lasts long.
And I'm always around. Get used to me. You deserve me, and you know it.
Loneliness does its best work, ironically, when it's paired up with other terrible emotions. It's a monster that can thrive without fuel, but it lives forever on sadness. Misery truly does love its company, and she can give it that.
Here comes the throbbing. The pain is better than nothing at all.
Yes, loneliness does especially well with someone else's loneliness to feed off of. She discovered long ago that if she falls in love with a fellow loner, nothing balances out. In fact, the two lonely people are often so accustomed to being alone that they can't get past it and defeat their demons; not even if they try their very best to do it together. She would know that. Derek, George, whoever is stupid enough to cross her path and think they can handle a little bit of baggage. She's left quite a wake of destruction in her quest for fairy boat love.
A "little bit of baggage"? This is why you're so lonely. You lie to yourself.
She blinks and turns away from her window as the clouds begin to take shape and show her a too-familiar pair of eyes, a too-perfect head of hair.
Get a hold of yourself. He's not lonely anymore. He has her.
She paces around her room, thinking that maybe togetherness is overrated anyway. If it were so great, people would stay in love, stay married, never cheat on their husbands and make them lonely. And those lonely men wouldn't have to come running to the lonely interns, hoping to be filled up again, and everything would be fine.
Really, Meredith? Even you aren't that good of a liar.
Yes, she convinces herself further, despite the nagging loneliness in that corner of her brain. She should really have that checked. Perhaps she's more ill in the head than she thinks. She may even need a personal consult from Dr. Shepard.
Get a grip.
Okay, she reasons. Who needs other people around all the time, just threatening to suddenly be overcome with loneliness? Who needs the fear?
Obviously, you do. Still seeing fairy boats in the sky?
She gets back in bed, deciding that in the end, her constant throbbing will just have to stay. Her loneliness can't be cured. It's chronic, and inoperable. She's a surgeon, she would know.
She finally falls asleep, dreaming of perfect faces, fairy boats, and what she hopes is the cure for her pain.