So here is something for your soul to snack on …
Other than my dad and my brother and a few really close friends that feel like brothers, I have not been held by or hugged by a person of the male species in 32 months. I have not been kissed by a guy in 32 months. I haven’t been told I’m beautiful, or been made to feel beautiful, by a member of the opposite sex, in 32 very long months. There has been no intimacy. No sex. Not even any serious cuddling. Nothing. Do I miss all of those things? Hell, yes. Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? But other than the normal missing of those things from time to time, when I actually have time to sit around thinking about it, mostly I don’t notice it. Mostly.
Is that normal? Is it normal that, for the most part, it doesn’t really bother me that intimacy and physical love is no longer a part of my life? Is it normal that I still have zero desire to seek any of this stuff out, especially if it means I have to be in a relationship with someone? (ewww!) Is it normal that even now, after 32 months of life without my husband, I still feel like “if I can’t be intimate with my husband, than I don’t want to be intimate at all?” It feels like being hungry. Like that feeling, when you have gone maybe the entire day without eating, and you get so hungry, that by the time you get home from your long day, you are so hungry, that you can’t focus on anything and you don’t know what to eat and nothing sounds good or satisfying – so instead of eating, you end up going to bed – and you almost forget that you were so hungry in the first place. That is how I feel with the physical and the intimacy stuff. Sometimes I really feel like I might need that very, very soon. But then, there is really no way for me to get that, without either being in a relationship or compromising my morals in some way – so I end up putting it out of my mind until the next time.
It’s weird, because I know the reality. It is not like I am tricking myself into thinking he is coming back or something. No. I don’t live in a fantasy world. I know he is dead, and I know that dead means dead forever. But even knowing this, I am still in that place mentally where I would rather remain in love with him, dead, than even consider or think about loving someone else, alive. Why do I feel like this? Is it because our love was so great and so special, that I fear it impossible to ever find such a thing again? Yes. Is it because I am terrified that I will never fall in love again, in that all-encompassing way, like I was in love with him? Yes. Is it because I am scared that I will fall in love again, and then he will die too? Yes. Is it because I am afraid that I will go searching for love again, and finally decide to open my heart, only to never ever find it, and have nobody ever love me again for the rest of my life?
Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. That’s the big one. That is the ultimate fear – that I will put myself out there, and nobody will respond. I will be standing in the middle of the ocean, and all I will see for miles around me is empty, foggy sky. I will be in a large, glass case – on display for all the world to see – my heart and soul broken into fragments from the sheer loudness of hearing: “Nobody will ever love you again. You had your one great soul mate. It is over for you. Give up. You are fat. You are old. The only men that will ever show interest in you are 70 years old, or total creeps. Stop being selfish. You have already had your one great love. You will grow old and die alone – your greatest fear.”
Yup, these are the types of fun, happy-go-lucky thoughts that go through my head on a semi-regular basis. So, instead of thinking about this stuff, I mostly try and push it away. I keep busy. I have loads of friends. I have a full life. Great family. Creative jobs such as teaching, writing, and directing shows – things that keep my brain and my soul happy. I try not to focus on or think about the fact that I’d really, really love to be held or kissed or comforted in an intimate way. Because once I start thinking about it, I won’t be able to stop. So I just put it away on a shelf somewhere. Put it over there, far enough away from me that I don’t need to see it or look at it. If I don’t look at it, then it’s not there, and that is the reality I am comfortable with right now.
Anything else is simply too frightening.