I never used to put crap all over my bed until I split up with R. I think I was trying to fill the empty space that used to be occupied by him. So each day more and more books, clothes, kleenex, quilts, bills, and laundry baskets would collect until I was – like when he slept there – forced to sleep on the very edge of my side.
Of course it wasn’t the same. He would press up against me, hold me, breathe on me. The stuff never did that. But we try to make do, don’t we.
A different time I was single, long ago, I wrote in my journal that I wished there was some guy with a big dick that magically appeared in my bed every night and went away every morning. Guess I was missing sex. These days I’m very much missing arms. And somebody who wants to be so close to me as they sleep that they ignore their own side of the bed and share mine.
But that’s just not the way it is.
“Things” are no replacement. While I want warm breath upon me, clutter stifles my breath and makes me feel stuck.
Twice now I’ve cleared everything off and made myself sleep in the middle. It’s incredibly uncomfortable and I don’t get a wink of sleep when I do it. But why should I sleep on my side? The whole bed is now my side!
I may secretly feel like no one will ever hold me again if I don’t keep a spot for them. Like everything will end up fine if I can one day say, “I saved your place!”
But I can’t live for someone else who may or may not even exist.
I know God holds me every night but I haven’t been able to feel it. Or I haven’t let myself feel it. Tonight, once again, I cleared off all the crap and clutter and will try to sleep. Just me and the bed.
What am I afraid of anyway? I’m all alone in this big crappy world every day, what’s one stupid bed?