The Lover Without a Lover

All the kiddos (well, the two of them that were there today) were down for their naps when I initiated a very short conversation over text messaging:

Me: I should so be in therapy.
Becks: Because of the kids?
Me: No, just 'cause I don't make sense.
Becks: LOL

But it's true. I don't feel like I make sense. And I'm blaming it on being lonely.

I was never very good at being lonely. I always wanted the closeness of another person. Before I had experienced it I just longed to know what it was like, and after knowing it I just really miss it. I always feel like I have a well of love that can't be emptied and want someone to give it to (just not in a smothering kind of way). And a huge part of me gets a little irritated by it when the only words I have to describe it are cheesy and make me feel really, really vulnerable just putting them out there. I've always wanted to get married and have kids and care for my husband and babies. It's always been a natural thought process that I could do that, that I desired it and not much else.

I have it on good authority that I make an excellent girlfriend and those authorities inform me I'll make a fantastic wife. The Ex himself would still tell you that to this day (and so would his mother). One of his friends that has become a good friend to me detailed to me once in an e-mail why seeing me be that girl that's really cool and fun on her own but also goes all out for the guy she's with made me so attractive. It was the first time someone expressed to me from pure observation reasons I should be a coveted partner. (And I am not with that guy who said those things now because? Because I can't return any sentiment to him beyond "I treasure your friendship.") It made me cry because I was feeling the loneliness, because of the truth in the words, and because I didn't know why there wasn't someone I wanted to be with that saw and loved those things. I don't cry easily or often, so that was uncomfortable.

I haven't let the loneliness have any spotlight for awhile. Meaning I just haven't allowed it to be around. I've been on dates, or even just spent time with guys I might be interested in that might have been interested in me. When it didn't work out I didn't give it much thought, not to say I didn't feel a little twinge wishing it could have. I was doing really well "dealing with singlehood." Perhaps that had to do with all the other things I felt going on in my life. Or it was enough that I was putting myself out there.

Or I struggled with wanting something and being afraid of it at the same time. Cautiously keeping my heart on my sleeve where it's always been and hoping I'd meet someone with a guarantee that I could let myself fall in love with.

I told you I don't make sense.

I don't make sense because I find myself in this world the feelings and emotions have made up in my head. And I feel like a pathetic fourteen year old girl that thinks her romantic fantasies will play out exactly the way she dreams them up. I can't stand the part of me that has ridiculous daydreams about a guy that I know won't be around and I won't have. I don't want to spend my time thinking on perfect scenarios that will never play out in the real world.

I am not saying that I'm wanting to be realistic in the sense that I'll settle for whoever asks me first. I'm just saying my make believe world is fit for movie magic and I am not so naive as to think I will be living out The Notebook.

Parts of me are fighting with each other and all of them are angry with Loneliness. There were several opinions against writing this post as it makes us out to be whiny and too much of a stereotypical girl...or something like that.

What it boils down to is me cuddled up under my big comforter at night, surrounded by two regular pillows, four smallish ones, my trusty blanket, holding Bear, who I've had since I was two, and feeling cold. Because there are no strong arms there, no shirt collars that smell of smoke, and no steady breathing matching mine. No warmth.

And don't mistake this for a simple need for an extra body in my bed. I crave intimacy that knows to leave me to myself when I need to cry for one of the three or four times a year that I do. Intimacy that has inside jokes and secrets no one else knows. That is quiet and doesn't require a lot of talk, but is full of laughter and silliness. That tries to understand the system set up for the closet and my processes that can't be interrupted when getting ready in the morning. That doesn't need to say "I love you" out loud for it to be known. That can take me on in a fight, call me out for being stubborn or ridiculous, can accept that in return, and knows not to "just let me win." Intimacy that isn't shy in thought or emotion but doesn't run around shouting things off of mountaintops or skyscrapers.

There's so much to say about it. I just have so many moments lately where it's washing over me and I feel heavy with a longing to love someone like that.

So now I'm exposed and you know my secret. One that I don't usually like to talk about, anyway. I blogged in a moment of weakness...
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You don't need to change
a thing about you, babe,
I'm tellin' you,
from where I sit you're one of a kind.
Relationships, I don't know why,
they never work out and they make you cry,
but the guy that says goodbye to you
is out of his mind...
-- Griffin House, "The Guy that Says Goodbye to You is Out of His Mind"