I’m Starving

Not really, I live in America after all. Not that that matters since we have people who starve here. But that’s another post.

I’m affection starved. This is a real phenomenon. Some of you may have heard of it. Yes, it started in my marriage. Before that I had plenty of friends that I could be affectionate with and we never thought anything of it (until later in life when we found out not everyone was as free with hugs and shoulder touches and hand-holding that didn’t mean anything more than “I am so happy to be near you”). Ok, yeah, in High School there was the potential for mixed signals, and maybe even in college, but I lucked out that most of the people I was affectionate with, despite being the opposite gender, had no interest in me sexually. Or if they did, they let me be clueless (thanks guys!)

I’m the touchy-feely sort. I need the positive bio-feedback that I get from being touched, being able to touch, and letting people know how I feel about them -- in a purely platonic fashion. What I didn’t realize is what a stress-relief it can be.

I am stressed to the max. There is a lot going on that I don’t want to talk about or deal with. Someone said I am carrying around a lot of emotional deadweight. I can feel it in my skin. My body is crying out to be touched, hugged, something, anything! And not necessarily sex. NSA (no strings attached) sex is too fleeting, too distanced, and doesn’t lead to a positive bio-feedback loop. Yes, been there, done that in the search for affection. Don’t look so shocked. I do some stupid things when I am nearly out of my mind with loneliness and the simple cure is a hug from someone I didn’t give birth to and don’t have to clean up poop after.

So I’m starving and crazy. Welcome to my world.