Love Lost

It's been another water cooler weekend on Facebook, discussing Rush Limbaugh's latest media attention ploy, the Republicans' latest attack on single mothers, and the deportation of an outstanding student whose father is a citizen and whose brother is not only a citizen but a member of our armed forces. Since I've already hashed my opinions of those subjects within the confines of Facebook, I won't talk about them here-- except to say, I think Rush is a misogynistic idiot, those conservative Republicans need to "phone home" since they, apparently, never had a mother, and that student is a greater demonstration of what it means to be American than some of these naturalized offspring that take up space in classrooms across the country.

The purpose of today's blog will not be to discuss those things but to, rather, answer one of life's questions: is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Maybe I don't have enough experience in this area, considering I've only fallen in love once, but I have to agree with the latter half of that statement. I would rather have not known the sweet joys of love than to know the everlasting emptiness of loss.

I say this because I miss it terribly. I miss being in a relationship where a man looks at me as if I'm his last meal; I miss being in a relationship where hands hone in to each other against the airiness of space and clasp together like heat-seeking missiles; I miss the possessive feel of his arm draped across my back; I miss  being able to drop the pretense of strength and lean on the physical and emotional support of someone else. I miss being his girl, excuse me, woman.


I would have rather not known how any of that felt because now I'm only left with memories and loneliness.

I wasn't lonely before we got together. I was working on me, becoming the best me that I could be by finding joy in each day and seeking new experiences. He caught me in the midst of claiming my happy and I resisted falling for him as long as I could-- partly out of stubbornness, mostly out of fear.  But, once I undug my heels, I soared with the knowledge that someone liked me for me-- snores, sarcasm, and all, and that I could actually feel the same for someone other than family.

But now that we are no longer an us, I just don't know what to do with myself. I want to feel that way again and really look forward to having a new relationship but I no longer feel like my sexy confident self. As I've stated before, I've gained back just 14lbs short of the weight I lost last year (I met him at my smallest) and I no longer feel desirable. What man will want me when I don't even like the way I look or the way my body feels? The high blood pressure has returned; the snoring's gotten worse-- dr. thinks I have sleep apnea; I'm even experiencing heartburn after every meal again.

I miss my sexy.

I miss the sleek strength of my legs, which were toning up to greatness. I miss cinching the belt to its very last hole (or having to create a hole) and seeing the hour glass figure reflected in the mirror. I miss running without gasping for air. I really miss the confidence all of that brought.

I really miss my sexy.

So, I guess, not only do I miss being in love with someone and having them in love with me, I, also, miss being in love with myself. *Sigh* Ah, cue the tears.

QoMV