Withdrawl

Every now and then I go through this phase, usually when I move to a new place. I'm in now. I hope I'm at the bottom. I don't want to think that it might get worse before it gets better. Like breaking any other addiction, I go though a withdrawl period. The symptoms are horrendous. And then slowly, eventually, after much suffering, the cravings subside. But right now, god the pain. It's actually a physical pain. I can feel the pressure in my chest, and my skin tingles and itches. I'm in hug withdrawl.

Quit laughing, you fuckers.

Any relationship counselor will tell you of the value and necessity of human physical contact, sexual or othewise. The National Arthritis Foundation even has a webpage and contact numbers to assist people with being able to touch and be touch by their partners with the minimum of pain. Contact is necessary for emotional wellbeing. Hugging is necessary.

Add to that the fact that I come from a region of the world where hugging is much more commonplace. It is not unusual to greet a friend in the morning at school with a hug. I was raised catholic, and at the kiss of peace during the mass, we exchange hugs. People in the midwest hug a lot, especially girls.

Add to that the fact that I come from a family which is uncommonly big on the whole hugging thing. We congregate in the kitchen in the evening, and it's perfectly normal to get hugged at random intervals while cooking. Or to hug the cook. Or to hug anyone else who happens to be geographically convenient. Snuggling, too, is paramount. So much so that anyone holding a furry quadruped in their lap while watching TV is automatically excused from jumping up to answer the phone, which would disturb aforementioned furry quadruped.

So this whole cold turkey no hugs for you thing SUCKS. Especially after a day like today. horrible day. emotionally drained. i'm too tired to tell you why; maybe I will later. suffice it to say that my entire future as a rower may be in jeopardy. i need a friend. i need a hug. i need a hug so bad it hurts. it actually hurts. i sit and remember the feel of dad's big bear arms around me, the tickle of hair in my nose when bridget hugs me and her leonine curls accost my nostrils, the terrifyingly passionate ferocity with which someone held me, once or twice, in rare moments of lager-induced abandon. i miss the weight of the geriatric beagle's head on the crook of my arm, the lazy, anemone-esqe flick of the cat's tail in my face, mom humming when she hugs me in the kitchen and rocks back and forth. i need someone to tell me that my life isn't over, that i havn't lost it all again, that it wasn't all for nothing; but i need them to tell me in a hug, not an email or a phone call or blip on MSN messenger. i need to feel the reassuring presence of another living, breathing being, who has a smell and skin and weight and warmth and hair that gets in my nose. My heart is torn and my skin is in agony for want of comfort. Goddamn i need a hug.