The Year of Yes

It can’t always be pink.

CRACK!

My right temple connected with the glass doorknob. Hard. I cursed the cat, who I was just trying to wrangle back into my bedroom before I dashed out to see MC Frontalot at Harper’s Ferry. I straightened up and my eyes filled with tears. At first it was because of the startling pain, but then I leaned back against the fridge, slid down to the floor and started sobbing. I stayed there in a crumpled heap, weeping into my fleece scarf, for I don’t know how long.

I had been fighting it for weeks. Profound loneliness. I feel it eating away at me. A black hole in the center of my chest that won’t stop growing.

The idea going into the week was to keep myself as busy as possible so Valentine’s Day wouldn’t get me down. I’m supposed to be learning how to be independent. Secure. Whole. I’m supposed to be positive. I’m supposed to keep moving forward and transform my pain into something constructive. I’m supposed to fight. Push through it. Get stronger.

Well, I don’t have any fight in me right now. I wave the white flag. Admit defeat.

I assure you, Dear Reader, this is not some kind of appeal for pity. I know I’ll be fine. Sometimes saying yes is about slowing down and being honest with oneself. It’s not that hard to find something to do and people to hang out with. I’m not talking about having company. I’m talking about having a partner in crime. I’m talking about having that person in my life with whom I can share my Yes-es. Someone I can be snowed in with tomorrow. Someone I can make art with (and for). Someone who makes me feel crazy (in a good way). Someone who can’t keep their hands off me. Someone who says, “Hey, I see that you’ve had a sucky day. Let me do something nice for you. And maybe it will be incredibly corny and stupid but we’ll laugh and laugh and then you’ll forget what you felt bad about.”

Someone who, when I bang my head on a doorknob, is there with an ice pack, some Advil and a hug.

I didn’t make it to the show last night. Instead, I put on my pajamas, crawled into bed and reached out to friends for perspective. Now the plan is not to stay busy, but to be kind to myself. To just be…sad. To take comfort in retreat. Valentine’s Day will come and go. So too, this loneliness.