I’ve been away, emptying real ink into real journals, but I felt like this belonged here.
At first it was just a burst of freedom that I didn’t even know I had been wanting. Everything was so new and fast and I lapped it all up voraciously. I felt wanted, as a woman, as a commodity, for the first time and it was empowering. It was empowering to feel desired. I had confidence. I stood up for myself. I got what I wanted. The rush was endless.
A few months later, the whirlwind has died down. While I never experienced the anger, resentment, or sadness that marks most breakups this time around, a little heartache still seeps in now and then. The feeling of loss comes in bits and pieces, usually in a memory or feeling I’ve forgotten that all of sudden comes flooding back accompanied by a brief tightening of the chest and shortening of breath. I cannot say that I miss the person and I haven’t been lonely enough long enough to quite yearn for it again, but I really do understand why people run back to their old relationships now, imperfect as they may be. When you have reached that level of comfort with someone where there are absolutely no walls left between the two of you, that is something special. It requires a deep emotional and physical connection. Friends and lovers can fulfill one or the other, but precious few can bridge the gap. And the idea that there is no telling when I will feel that way with anyone again, that I may in fact never feel that free with anyone again, is daunting enough to send anyone into a spiral of depression. As for me, I have enough faith that it is not a matter of if, but when and whom. Meanwhile, I’m going to enjoy the journey.