Touch

I think today would be day 70 of having no boy love in my physical, waking life. I’ve tried not to keep count. I feel like my head is floating, like I’m not really here, like nothing is really happening to me I only think it’s happening. Nothing is real. I tried to tell him this and I don’t think he understood. I wanted so badly today to come home and take all the pain killers I saved in my medicine bottle just so I could stop craving human touch for five minutes, just five minutes, but then realized I gave them away last February. People say time flies, but for me it drags slow and torturous and all I want to do is have someone give me a hug but I’m so phobic that I won’t get within three feet of another human being and then listen to Radiohead all day and all night and I try to tell myself I can’t be friends with boys, I don’t think I know how to be friends with boys, not properly at least. All my friendships turn into these passive-aggressive faux relationships where I get mad at them for the things plaguing my life and I have to stop and remind myself that hey, I’m married, and that’s my friend, and they can do whatever they please and I have no say in it. And last night I missed him so badly and only wanted him to be near me, just touching my skin.
I never realized how heavily I relied on touch to fuel my entire being.
I will eat you alive. I will eat you alive. I will eat you alive.