The Itch

Hey mom.

I’ve had this itching feeling in the base of my spine for the last thirteen days, and it won’t go away no matter what I do. It’s distraction is worsened, when accompanied by the large pit in my stomach whose existence far exceeds my memory. It feels like my body is having a visceral reaction to my mind’s incoherent inner dialogue. I hope you don’t mind, but this is the only thing I can think of to finally rid myself of the wretched itching. Would you like to hear about it?

I guess I should start by telling you I’m lonely. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before. I suppose I’m not lonely in the traditional sense of the word - I mean, I’m not really alone. I live with Colton, and we have two cats - but of course you already know that. I guess I’m saying I’m lonely in the non-physical sense. I don’t wander the halls of my apartment wishing for some company. I don’t fantasize in vain about cuddling up on the couch with a furry little creature breathing softly on my lap. I don’t long for the loving embrace of a man when the day turns to night and the air grows cold. I have all of those things.

No, I suppose I’m lonely in another sense entirely. My loneliness creeps up on me during the pauses in my lectures at school, when the auditorium is filled to the brim with students, yet there is no sound except for that of shuffling feet, or exasperated sighs. I feel it when I stand in the long subway tunnels waiting for the train. Strangers surround me entirely, yet we all make a point of ignoring each other simply so we might avoid an unpleasant interaction. It comes to me when I’m out for dinner with a group of friends, and the conversation transitions from work, to family, to Neymar and Katy’s fast-approaching due-date. Katy is so lucky to have found Neymar and settled down so young. They’re going to be sublimely happy.

Colton has just transitioned to a part-time student so that he can manage his class load while keeping a full-time job. Toronto’s splendor and promise of prosperity is diminished only by the ever-increasing rent prices and the dwindling number that sits in my savings account. Colton doesn’t want me to take any more shifts at work - he knows how stressed I already am. But the more he works, the less time we can spend together. I suppose everything comes at a cost.

Have you heard from Katy recently? She’s about a month away from her due-date. She keeps telling me about the majesty that is the creation of life. I suppose I can’t truly understand what she means, so maybe that statement is lost on me. But Katy is absolutely radiant - you should see her. She says that Neymar has never been so attentive, or patient, or present. She’s so excited for her future, and for her little family. Sometimes, when she’s telling me all of these things, my mind wanders to thoughts of you. Surely you’ve felt these things too.

Other times, I find myself picturing what it would be like to be in her shoes. It seems like a strange concept - me being pregnant. Colton and I don’t want kids, as you know. That is not in my life plan, or in his. We do not have the room, or the time, to have children. We pledged that we are enough for one another, and that our lives will focus on fostering our own happiness, not the happiness of a little human. We have a plan. And yet, I can’t help but wonder what that experience might be like. Is it nice to be admired by strangers, who approach you and ask questions about your experience? What about the morning sickness, and the back pain, and the way a baby stretches your skin? Do these things make you stronger? Does pregnancy really connect you to the world, and to children the way that Katy describes? Does the presence of a baby fill you with the feeling of unconditional love and a sense of purpose? I don’t know, but I suppose you likely do. Anyways, you should call Katy if you haven’t already done so. I’m sure she would love to talk to you.

I want to be clear - I don’t believe my loneliness is a result of some form of jealousy. I’m doing well, all things considered. Perhaps it can better be explained as a sense of emptiness residing somewhere deep inside of me, maybe even in that pit in my stomach. I have long since aspired to get exactly where I am today, and I find myself very content. However, I cannot describe my experience as anything else but that: content. I am not excited, or intrigued by my future, and though I am not regretful, I wonder if there is something more I crave - something that might relieve that annoying itch, and that might take the place of the knotted feeling in my belly. Something that can rid me of the unwarranted loneliness I’m feeling.

I’m sorry mom, I highly doubt any of this makes sense. I don’t want you to worry about me, but I do want you to know how I’m feeling. You understand me in a way that no one but a mother can. Thank you for this love, and know that I will be okay.