The Dateable Dork

I am starving for a relationship.  I want it so badly.  I put incredible amounts of time and effort into searching for it, trying to find a life-giving oasis in the harsh desert of the daily grind.  I wander the desert with an intense focus, battling wind, storms, thirst, hunger, and intense isolation.  I go back and forth from home to work and work to home as an empty shell of my true self, wasting away with the boredom of my daily routine, the longing for meaning and fulfillment.  Emotionally speaking, I am getting thinner, my soul growing more brittle, more fragile, while at the same time my skin gets thicker and stronger to ward off my harsh reality and the unique pain endemic to the search.  My stomach is empty.  My heart is emptier.  I think back to the days when I was in love, and content, and complete, and I see a healthy, nourished, satisfied being.  Not the emaciated soul I see in the mirror today.

From a distance, the pain is invisible.  The world around me sees a young, healthy, vibrant woman with a promising career, a caring family, and a group of trusted friends.  I cleverly, instinctively mask my starving soul with perfectly pressed shirts and leather boots and mascara.  I tell people that I’m doing just fine, that I had a relaxing weekend, that I have exciting plans for the upcoming week.  Every once in a while my parents call and ask if I’m happy.  I say yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be happy?  And can we please change the subject and talk about plans for the holidays?  They know me well enough to see through the act.  But not everyone knows me this well.  They fall for my disguise.  I can’t let them see what I’ve become.  I can’t let them know that I’m losing myself.  I can’t let myself know.

But the truth is, I am losing myself.  The desert of isolation and loneliness is eating away at me, little by little, until one day, there will be nothing left.  I used to have hobbies.  I used to cook.  I used to explore.  I used to dance.  Now I have no time or energy for things that once gave me a sense of fulfillment and contentment.  I’m too busy searching, battling, wandering, reaching out with every last drop of energy for something, anything within my weakening grasp.  I forget what it’s like to not be searching.  I’m starting to forget who I used to be.  I’m starting to be afraid – afraid that I’ll never find what I’m looking for, but even more so, afraid that when I do find it, I won’t have anything left to give.  I’ll have forgotten how to love, how to live. 

So tonight I temporarily paused the search for a relationship, and started looking for myself.  I cooked fresh meals for lunch and dinner – healthy food to feed my stomach, my heart, my soul.  I picked up one of my old hobbies that had been laying dormant for many months.  I bummed around the house in my pajamas, took a nap, and cuddled up with my favorite blanket.  And I found a piece of my old self buried under my now thick skin and behind my longing, lonely eyes.  I was surprised to find myself still there, and I was reminded of how much I miss that person.  How much I love that person.  How much I need that person back in my daily life.  She’s hard to reach, though, and it will take time to get her back.  I’ve traveled such a long distance in an isolated land, and retracing my steps is not an easy undertaking.  But I remain hopeful.  I remain optimistic.  And as much as I need to travel back to my former self, my true self, I hold on to the hope that perhaps there will be someone else waiting for me when I arrive.