My heart hurts. I hit him up for a quick dose of love like a shot in the arm. He is the quick fix for this fit of loneliness that has me glued to the bed like a roach in a trap. His words like a hot gust of flattery and attention, making me feel somewhat normal again. I cannot leave this cavern of my own creation if there is no one out there who wants me. I text him so that I can know that someone still wants me. Someone, anyone. It’s a pathological need for affection. It’s human nature to need love. I don’t know if I’m sick or if I’m honest, but I do know that the world doesn’t want me when I’m like this. When I’m begging for love of some sort. The world never seems to want to give it to me.
Which is why I find myself, phone in hand, his name at the top of this text, my finger hovering over the send button. He’ll know what it means as soon as he reads it. He’ll know that “hey” means “Did you forget about me? Have you stopped loving me? Do you still want me?” He’ll know that I haven’t found someone else to answer those questions for me today, so I need him to tell me the answer that I want to hear. Even though we both know we shouldn’t be doing this. We should let go of each other and throw out the emotional crutch. I should stop doing this before I can’t live without him at all, because after years of trying I already know that I can’t live with him. I should pick one and settle for it. I should either stop texting him, or I should suck it up and realize that I’m stuck here with him.
Instead, I am in the middle, too afraid to look for someone else, too smart to try to work it out with him. But naive enough to keep on texting him in my daily search for validation and meaning. It’s a quick hit, like an addict, and tonight I will go out to bars searching for some other man who might be able to fill this role. If not – more texting.