Sleepless

Photo Credit: Photo by Masaaki Komori | Unsplash

I lay in bed at night wondering when I will share it again with somebody. I still sleep on my side of the bed but tonight I let my feet cross the invisible barrier and rub against the sheets where he once was. Taking up more space in the bed for some reason just makes me feel lonelier. It’s as if I know someone should be there, and if I stay on my side with my back to the emptiness it makes it a little bit more manageable.

It's at night that I still think of him. The last man I shared not only my bed with, but my heart as well. There's a clear difference. Others have come since him, but none powerful enough to replace him or take his place in my mind or erase my pain for more than a few moments in time. I struggle knowing my bed has been empty for nearly the amount time that his has been occupied. I don’t know why it bothers me. I knew it would happen. I told him as much.

And yet when my guess became reality a sense of peace fell over me while at the same time my heart broke over again. I continue to move closer and closer to merely indifference. But at times there’s still loneliness, anger, the need to say "I’m sorry" one more time, and regret that I didn’t end sooner.

When my mind begins to wander, it starts with him before turning to my friends. And of countless women, really, all across the world who go to bed every single night with their person and don’t think twice about it. It’s just part of their routine, like brushing your teeth or washing your hands.

And I wonder and I wait for the day it becomes part of mine again.

I wonder if I’ll ever be as good with someone else as I am on my own. It’s a thought that scares me. Because as much as I want to be married, and as much as I want to find my person, as much as I want to laugh and live and understand someone, I’ve never done it and been as happy as I am on my own. Not for any matter time. It’s all these highs it’s all these firsts, it’s all this new, and then it’s pain, and anxiety, and this feeling that it's not right. It’s never been right.

And what is effortless for so many remains impossible for me.

It's at night that I find that I don’t know what to pray for anymore. I've been praying the same prayer for so long my voice has grown quiet, even if my desire hasn't.  My faith gives me hope and at the same time it hurts that it’s still not my turn. It's still not my turn. And maybe God's known all along what I'm too scared to admit. Maybe I’m too complicated. Maybe I’m too messy. Maybe I’m too here or there, or this or that.  The Christian in me whispers don't give up but the human in me questions how long I can keep trying and failing.

I question if I’m a small town girl who made her world bigger to the point she doesn’t know where she belongs or where she fits. I don’t know where home is or where feels right or makes sense to put roots down.

And while I’ve built this beautiful community that I'm so proud of, time and time again, I can’t help but wonder when it will be a new chapter to my story instead of the same plot with different characters. I just don’t know when I get to the ending that I've been praying for since I was a teenager.

It's the nights when I suddenly feel it creep in. In the stillness, laying in the dark, regardless of the friends or laughter that filled my day, loneliness takes hold, gentle at first and then more tightly. And I’m left wondering.

When?

My legs return to my side of the bed. I close my eyes and wait for sleep. Because I know after years of being in the same empty bed, with the same thoughts swirling that there's no answer.

Not yet anyway.