I went to church today and they spoke about the desires of our heart. The ones that stay and stay no matter what you do. The ones God has written on your heart and you want it so much its like when you are waiting in line and you stand on your toes to get a better look. Its like when you dance around and get all fidgety in anticipation. Its a desire so strong that it becomes a physical thing that you cannot ignore. And I lost track of what was going on after that because my whole focus was on that place inside my chest that longs for my person. Surely, surely he is out there somewhere. And I don't seem to be getting any more patient as time goes on.
I understand the reason for the delay, of course. Because a little over a year ago my idea of the perfect person for me was so much different. Not completely, but enough that I wouldn't be happy with my then-perfect-person now. So its good I didn't meet him then. And I understand that maybe I'm not done with the changing process and perhaps my idea of what I want in my Person may just change again. It might not be time yet. Or maybe HE isn't ready yet.
I understand all that. I know that sometimes in my life the thing I want the very most turns out to be very, very bad for me. And the worst things that have ever happened to me have been the catalysts for changes that brought even greater joy. That made me stronger. And I know that my limited view may not be anything at all compared to the whole picture. I know. I know. I know.
But none of that does anything to quiet the voice inside my head that says, "I'm ready!" None of it soothes the ache in my arms to hold another person. I can't stop the feelings that tell me I want to know and be known. I want to love and be loved. And finally, I think I deserve it.
I know that I'm terribly flawed. We all are. And no one knows just how horribly messed up I am more than I do. No one could possibly hate parts of me the way I can. I'm a full-time audience to the disaster and I have VIP access to the thought process behind the whole mess.
But still, I deserve the kind of love people write books about. I could love someone so much. And it better be someone who can handle all of the text messages and letters and words and time and affection I am so ready to give. I could be someones safe place. Someones private joy and laughter. I could hold secrets, soothe worries and stand together through storms. I could be that for my Person.
There have been times when I have been so preoccupied with another persons touch that I don't even register what else is going on around me. Just the lightest pressure of a knee resting against mine when we sit close together. Just the warmth radiating from an arm that is so, so close but not touching. I want someone to be so preoccupied with my presence that they forget to watch the movie too.
Because I keep being just really good friends with boys. Yes, yes, I know they love me. I know they think I'm all kinds of amazing. But I'm a friend. I'm not ever that girl they want. I'm the one you can talk to and laugh with and go on adventures with, but for heavens sake don't touch me. I wonder if there will ever, ever be a man that touches my face. Or runs his fingers through my hair.
Being fat made me feel like I wasn't a woman. I couldn't be girly. I wasn't sexy. I wasn't weak or precious or dainty. I was awkward and lumbering and uncomfortable. I don't know what it is to feel small. I'm trying to learn now. I was so afraid of things like make-up and nail polish, high heels and cute purses. I thought if I couldn't have every part of the "woman" experience, I should just avoid as much as I could. Maybe then it would seem like I chose it. Like it wasn't impossibly out of reach. I don't know if I could explain to someone who hasn't been there. And part of the whole experience was feeling undesirable. Like no man could ever be attracted to me. How could he?
So now more than 100lbs later, I still have that awful feeling. I see a face and body that I'm starting to like. I feel more comfortable here now. But nothing about me feels desirable. I feel even less so now. Its so much worse. And I know it sounds awful, but I want so much for someone to help me feel that way. And that seems hopeless. I want to feel like the stereotypical girl/woman person.
And it only gets more intense the more weight I lose. Like the desires were stored up in the extra fat and as I burn it away they are the only thing left. Or maybe they were hidden away behind some wall, some floodgate now released to wreak havoc on my spirit. I don't know how much more I can handle.
And who do I talk to about this? Does that even help anyway? Because it seems like saying the words out loud don't make it any better. And its embarrassing and awful. But I want so very much to just be touched. I want my first kiss. I want to hold hands. I want to trace invisible patterns across skin. I could say so much more. I could go on and on.
But this isn't helping. And writing always helped me before. This is only making me more miserable.
I'm going to have to go back to the part where I try to think about something else. Anything else.