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When I can’t sleep. When the wind is too loud outside my windows and I find myself indulging in someone else’s radio music…I think of you.

I think of those nights when I wasn’t lonely because of you. I think of those times in the wee small hours, when we found breakfast and love across a worn formica table. 

When those moments between night and morning come fleeting across my memory, I only think of how grateful I am that I should have been depressed then, and you wouldn’t let me. Of how I should have fallen victim to all my bad mistakes. You helped me make the best ones.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you again. Because I am only aware of how lonely I am after knowing how wonderful it was to be by your side. 

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It’s a term I’ve seen often, in the past four weeks, that describes the intense desire to be held, or to touch your loved one. It’s not like a lust, per se, but more like a need for affection, where there is left a huge void.

It’s not something that someone in a nasty slump can really say they feel, mainly because it’s more of a psychological confusion. Where there was once a constant intimacy, sexual or not, there is not anymore. It’s a jarring reality for me to not have Jon to touch and hold, and to be touched by. I never realized how intimate and affectionate we were, many times a day, until I could never be that way with him again.

My mind is confused. My natural reaction is to find another someone to help the transition, but that really causes more trouble than it’s worth. If Jon and I had simply (is it ever simple?), divorced, finding a “next” like I have a tendency to do, would be an easier temptation for me to relent to. I’m the type that gets serious with the rebounds, and although most of them don’t last longer than 6 months, it’s something I just did, quite often. Most of the time, actual sex wasn’t even involved, but I’ve always had someone to call “mine”, even for the time being.

Doing that right now is obviously a bad idea, but it’s also sending my subconcious into a confused state. My body and soul need that sort of loving support. The gentle hugs, the random kisses. All the affectionate things that Jon and I did on a daily basis, that I seem to have taken for granted, now cannot happen. I feel like I’m walking around in a plastic bubble around people. I need the arms of a man to hold me up, especially now, but I am the wrong person to even consider that with. Luckily, the men I know are too smart to even consider it, and that’s probably a very good thing.

Although, I wish sometimes, that I could just have someone sleep over, and hold me. It’s a wish I know won’t be granted, however, and that’s OK.

What makes Skin Hunger different from the average broken heart is that we did not choose to be apart. We had zero choice in our separation, and it was so sudden and halting, that my mind can’t wrap itself around it. My mind, or psyche keeps expecting and wanting his touch so much, that it’s incredibly frustrating to me. And when a man gives me a hug, and tries to be comforting, I realize how unfulfilled it is because it is not Jon. My soul is confused, and refuses to see the truth. I know it, mentally, and I understand why. But my heart is unconvinced. It’s so hard to believe that I will never have him again, even in the smallest way. I will never touch his skin or feel his arms around me that way ever again. And I can type it, and say it, and bawl my eyes out all I want to, and it’s not going to change things.

The problem has become nagging for me. I can’t sleep, for fear of dreams where I have relations with different men, where Jon is there, but doesn’t really care what I do. I am so desperate for contact, I can’t stop myself. Then the guilt and confusion hits. My subconcious wonders Why does he not care? Why doesn’t he touch me himself? Why aren’t we together anymore?

I wake up feeling so horrible. I feel like a huge rock is in my chest, and I can’t breathe. Why get up? Why function? What is the point, if I feel like I’m walking around with a huge weight I cannot take off. It makes me slow. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Skin Hunger. Another symptom in the random world of grief, where people think we move from stage to stage, but really, every thing is barrelling at us at once.

I don’t know when I’ll be over it, but I’m guessing it’s not going to happen anytime soon. *sigh* Until then, I continue to suffer in my dreams, and in the zombie-like waking state, wishing he were here to want me again.