We watched Notes on a Scandal today. Judi Dench plays this very lonely, very creepy sort of person who obsesses about and attaches herself to a character played by Cate Blanchett, and I kept marveling at how absolutely creepy Dench’s character is.

H.E.’s whispered explanation to me was that “loneliness can drive some people crazy.”

But I couldn’t get over how creepy it was … mostly, I think, because it was so familiar to me. I’ve actually met people like that—obsessed, persistent, presumptuous, and clingy, all traits in total to an unhealthy degree. You at once have to feel sorry for them as well as be a little wary of them … because once they’ve attached themselves to you, it’s hard to get your life, your personal space, your privacy, your peace, or your freedom back.

I mentioned once before that I once gave someone the time of day, and ever after, that someone followed me around—he was just suddenly everywhere, nearly every hour of the school day, and nearly every school day of the week. He came into my personal space uninvited, putting his hands on my back, on my shoulders, on my arms, and on my hands in a very over-friendly way. He wanted to talk about very personal, very intimate things—dreams, desires, and what have you. Not in any seductive way, but as if he immediately saw us as two kindred souls that should share everything at once.

I did not invite this, and I did not encourage it. Seriously. I told him what time it was when he asked, and suddenly he was everywhere, “my closest friend.” The whole thing made me uneasy and afraid. But the more I withdrew into myself in my uneasiness, hunching my shoulders in a body language that said “closed,” too afraid to tell him point blank that I would rather he left me alone, the more he seemed to persist. He was expecting more from me than I ever even willingly gave to my actual closest friends, and it was creeping me out. I’m not sure what it was that attracted him to me in the first place, except that maybe he thought I was lonely.

He wasn’t the only one like that in my life. A year or two later, it was a girl.

I can’t remember the girl’s name or how we met, but she, too, popped up wherever I went after some kind of moment that I’m sure was meaningful for her. She didn’t even fabricate any reasons to seek me out—advice on some school work, questions about trying out for the squad, nothing. I’d be deep in a conversation with someone or waiting with a group of people for something, and there she’d appear, by my side, with an eager smile and eyes only for me.

Awkward couldn’t begin to describe my situation, especially if the conversation I was having was personal and private. I’d introduce her to whoever was with me at the time, but I really couldn’t call her “my friend” because I didn’t know a blessed thing about her and didn’t tell her much of anything about me, and whatever conversation I was having would have to go off on a less personal tangent because the person with me would look askance at the girl, wondering who the hell she thought she was, barging in on a private conversation like that.

She didn’t even say anything. She just seemed to want to be close to my side.

I understand loneliness, and I understand the need to seek out the company of another person or two, wanting to borrow or to lend a listening ear and a sympathetic heart. I’m sure even I’ve creeped out a person or two in my loneliest times. If I ever get the impression that I’m doing that, though, I immediately back off; I hate the thought that I could ever make anyone feel the way I felt when I was followed around.

However, for the most part, I like my own company, and if I ever find myself alone, I have my many hobbies to occupy me. Back in school, I often enjoyed sitting by myself in the library, quietly reading a book or writing in my journal. And when I am not alone, I like the company of the people around me and don’t usually ask for much more. Throughout life, I’d have AP English buddies, cheerleading buddies, vocal ensemble buddies, dance buddies, work buddies, online buddies, and on and on, but I hardly ever expected the friendships to extend beyond the environment unless I really connected with anyone on a much deeper level and there was a mutual desire to move the boundaries of the environment a little.

But I guess that’s what’s at the heart of it. What makes incredibly lonely people seem so creepy sometimes is their uninvited attempt and persistence to move those very boundaries—as if they had no life of their own and expected others to give theirs up for them.

There were some scenes in the movie that illustrate what I mean. In one of them, Judi Dench’s character (Barbara) is about to witness her cat being put to sleep, so she goes to see Cate Blanchett’s character (Sheba) to ask her to be there with her. Unfortunately for Barbara, Sheba is with her family, on their way and running late to their Down Syndrome son’s school play, a very big day for the entire family. As much as Sheba would like to be there for Barbara, her family must come first. As awful as she feels for Barbara’s loss, she will have to spend time with Barbara later tonight and not now—now is for her family. Barbara, however, throws a fit and says that Sheba owes her, that if she doesn’t come with her now, she’ll have made the wrong choice. As if her family were nothing.

Like I said. Creepy.

Watch the movie. You may never feel lonely again.

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