I don’t know what I’m doing in this current phase of my life. I’m growing beyond my current stage by heading back to college, meditating, evaluating my life…and I’ve become so repulsed by the thought of dating that my only safe recourse is to become static with the Vaping Viking.
We get together, we watch movies, we go shopping, we cook together, we lay in bed and watch old episodes of Macgyver with limbs touching. We’ve slept in the same bed all night and gone for coffee in the morning. We send perfunctory texts.
“Hi. How’s your day going?”
And there’s nothing of substance. I know for a fact he doesn’t know my favorite color, my favorite food, my favorite book, my worst nightmare, my greatest fears.
But he knows what I feel like when fucking like bunnies since I finally gave up my abstinence because if I’m not waiting for someone to fall indescribably in love with me, why should I not at least feel physical contact with another? Oh yeah, that’s right. Because if there’s no connection, it’s not satisfying. Sure, sure, his technique was fine. He did good things that felt just hunky dory. Couldn’t make me cum, though, because I can’t do that without the connection. I hate that. I hate it passionately. I can’t find myself completely satiated physically unless I am completely satiated emotionally, spiritually, mentally…what a crock of shit.
He knows what I look like while sleeping and how ridiculous my hair is when I wake up.
And these are all such intimate things. Too intimate. Far too intimate for whatever it is we’re sharing. He doesn’t flatter me and look at me adoringly, but he’ll ask me to come over and make dinner with him. He doesn’t ask me about my dreams, but he’ll invite me over to lay in his bed and watch shows with him while playing on my phone. He doesn’t bother filling the silence with conversation, but he won’t give me in depth conversation when I ask him questions about his views on ANYTHING. He doesn’t walk me to my car at night, but he’ll meet me at it when I arrive. He tells me about his ex that he still loves, but then he throws his arm over me and nuzzles my neck in the next breath. He doesn’t think of me all day long, but he invites me on a trip to Atlantic City. I don’t connect to him. He doesn’t connect to me. It isn’t even a real friendship. It’s static. We are white noise to each other…merely blocking out the world for a time.
So what the fuck am I doing?
I miss feeling something. Anything. I miss smiling when a text comes through and laughing at a memory and looking forward to getting dolled up for a night out. I miss feeling like someone actually craves me. I miss touch, but not any touch. I miss the shivers and the longing. I miss the comfort and the feeling that I’m not alone with one, simple touch. I miss feeling like I matter more than the others.
I’m hungering for something that I’m convinced doesn’t even exist, and I’m filling that void with a shadow of the real thing. I know I’ve had something much more real than this on more than one occasion, and I am so desirous of that and afraid of that all at the same time. I’m involving myself in a non-involved situation to protect myself from/give myself some of what I crave the most. And I’m not sure what that says about me.
But rest assured, it says something.
So for now, I’m full of static. I’m white noise and shadowed hopes. Funny, but I think I’ve just described being a ghost of myself…neither vibrantly alive nor fully dead. Just whispers that are easily ignored.