Love and Affection

I have a lot of trouble showing how much I value my relationships with the people in my life. I wasn't raise to be a physical person. My parents were not physical people. Their displays of love and affection were warped by their bickering and constant arguments. I was raised around the notion that being physical was not an option.

Until I was eleven, I never had real friends. I had occasional friends that came and went with the years, and a 'best friend' who always had to be better than me at everything and anything. Even then, there was little physical contact. We slept next to each other during sleepovers and we grabbed each others' shoulders to get attention in the hallways, but nothing more. I still remember the first time he hugged me. I remember the first time; I stood stiff, and scared. Nobody had ever touched me like that before. Nobody who wasn't family.

It took me two years of constant surprise and tackle hugs to get used to it. It took two years of 'hellos' and 'goodbyes' and 'see you laters' to finally relax in their arms- these were my closest friends. These were the inseparable group we hung with, that would envelope me into the group hugs despite my objection. These were the kids who started breaking down my shell.

I'm still not comfortable when a stranger hugs me. Sometimes, I hug friends who I am not close with, and my whole body tenses up like there's a sniper targeting me and I've got 0.002 seconds to escape. Then sometimes, I've grown to hug people I don't know well, just to feel them close to my skin. I like to remind myself sometimes, that even those who don't know me inside and out aren't disgusted by me. I like to remind myself that I do, indeed, have friends.

And one friend of mine, not a close friend, a co-worker, asked me one day, "What happened to you?" He theorized I must've been young. He theorized that something inappropriate must've happened to make me react to physical contact this way, but I can't think of any event that would. I have no memory lapses of my childhood; I remember every moment of loneliness, of sanctity, and every afternoon of summer I wasted away inside reading novels and listening to my best friend: my discman. I remember my love, my loss, and my regrets. He said he didn't believe me, but I knew. Nothing happened to me.

There's nothing wrong with me. I know that now. It took me a long time to come to terms with it. For a while, I thought I was just weird; thought that I just didn't like people touching me. Kids like that, they had uncles who raped them, parents who beat them, or boyfriends who assaulted them (physically and/or sexually). I have no sob story. I have no lies. I have the truth, and the truth is, I have never been, and probably will never be a physical person.

When I was with my last boyfriend, what frustrated him the most was that I didn't want to get intimate with him; that I found it extremely difficult to display physical affection. It frustrated me that such a trivial thing to me would bother him so much, and though we separated for more than simply that reason, it was a largely contributing factor. I think about it, and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to fully return that physical display of affection like most people. I don't know if I would ever be comfortable enough, whether with myself, my actions, or my physical appearance to allow myself to show this. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell anyone this in person.

Sometimes, I'm an emotional train wreck. Praise the lord, it's 4:12 on a Tuesday morning, and I'm thinking about how I want to get married one day, and I don't mean a fancy ceremony- I mean, I want to find somebody that I can say that I will spend the rest of my life with, no doubts, mean it, and follow through. Yet I know myself better than most, and to be honest I cannot see that happening. I know it hurts. I know that a lot of things I want from life are never going to happen to me.

Being physical, to me, is more than just sex, fucking... making love, whatever you want to call it. At first, I held on to my virginity because I didn't have protection. I then held on to it because I wasn't comfortable with who I was with. Even now, though I am comfortable with who I am with, I'm holding on to it for no reason at all. I want to let go- I want to be able to give myself to someone, and think it means nothing, because in truth, it does mean nothing, but it's a physical act, and that means more to me than anything else. The idea itself, lost to me. The act makes it difficult.

Now that I'm older, I see boys and I can't be worried about best friends and surprise hugs anymore. I've had my heard warped from worrying about sex and love, and getting physical. I've had my head wrapped around the idea that commitment is worthless. I've had my head shaken by the idea that I'll never be able to settle down. And yet, the idea, it appeals to me more than I'll ever say. I like the idea of falling into someone's arms and feeling like I'm worth something, even if it's something as stupid as satisfying someone's sexual desires. I want to feel like I'm good enough for someone, even if it's just one night.

But the truth is, every time I go out and spend another night in a boy's bed, without sex, our silence filled with shallow words that taste bitter on my tongue and never quite reach my heart, I think about what I really want. And what I really want sometimes, most of the time, I just want to be held. I don't want to cry, or fuck, or fight. I just want a set of arms around me, holding me, like I'm worth something more than my body ever will be. But I haven't found someone like that yet, and to be quite frank with you, I'm terrified to start looking, knowing I'll just end up getting hurt again.