The Perils of Pseudo-Crushing

Mostly, I do very well in my single, widowed-woman life.  I keep busy with work, roller derby, taking care of my dogs and house, visiting family and friends, and the occasional travel, party, camping trip, concert, or music festival.  I still miss Ron, but it has shifted and is different than before, more tolerable and less sharp; more of a dull ache that is always there, just more pronounced at certain times, like arthritis just before a rain storm.  There is not much downtime in my life, but when there is, I general welcome it and rejoice in the space.

Still, I get lonely intermittently.  The top things that spur on some loneliness/feeling sorry for myself are:

1)      Sunday mornings – wish I had Ron to go to brunch or share breakfast and coffee on the porch

2)      Weddings, birthday parties, family gatherings – any big social event to which he previously would have accompanied me

3)      When it is cold and I want someone to cuddle with on the couch

4)      When I am injured or sick – I want someone to be concerned for me and to take care of me

5)      When someone or something has me super upset (mad, frustrated, sad) – I want Ron to tell me I am OK and it will be alright

I try to self-soothe.  I try to be a grown-up.  I have found I take pretty good care of myself – better than I ever guessed I would have.  I still talk to Ron, especially in bed at night.  It is one of my favorite times – falling asleep – because it is here I feel the most connected to him.  I also still write him, though much less frequently and less desperately than before.  Every now and then when I am communicating with him, I am struck by a thought or a feeling that is so clearly not my own that I am sure it must be him.  But this is a rare occurrence. 

Mostly, I remain a girl in the land of the living, in love with a dude who resides where the dead go.  However, I don’t know how to say this: the inkling that I may find myself in a relationship with another living human being has crossed my mind.  Even though I know it is highly likely that I will love again.  Even though I know Ron would ultimately want me to be happy.  Even though I know most folks would support me and want this for me.  Even with all of that, I still feel like a jerk.  I have always been loyal.  Naively, I wanted to believe that what I had with Ron was enough to fill the rest of my life and I would never have affection for anyone else.

But carrying on a relationship with someone who cannot interact with you (save those few, rare “maybe it’s him (but maybe it’s just me) occurrences) is really hard.  I am not a statue.  I am not indestructible.  I am not made of stone or metal.  I am a person.  I have a deeply feeling heart.  I have a pulse.  I have an imagination.  Not being able to actually have an exchange in the land of the living leaves me lonely.

So, I pick people with whom it would never work out and then develop pseudo-crushes on them.  Pseudo because they are not real.  A friend declared one an infauxuation, which is the perfect term.  They are crushes based on little actual significance or merit.  They are crushes on people I most likely couldn’t stand if I ever had an actual, real-life interaction with them.  They are crushes on people from far away, in relationships, or who even don’t know I exist.  For the most part, no one knows about them.  And I am sure it is healthy, in a way, this experimenting with feeling something in my heart for someone else with a still-beating heart.  This is normal.  I am 34.  Statistically, I am going to love again.  Realistically, I am going to be in a relationship again . . . with someone who has the confidence to leave room for how I feel about Ron, of course.  But, for now, an infauxuation allows space for trying the feeling on and my selections have been made (on a subconscious level) for people with whom there is zero chance of it working out, thus I can feel safe pseudo-crushing. 

What bothers me the second most about these infauxuations (second to the fact that I feel them at all and cannot just be content becoming a widow-nun-derby-girl or something) is what they become for me in my head.  As I play out scenarios and think about the pseudo-crushees, I realize what I want and need most is to be liked/loved by someone else.  And then I get mad.  Really pissed.  Because that is just ridiculous.  I want to be content with liking/loving myself.  That I want someone else to tell me I am hilarious, brilliant, insightful, awesome, pretty enough, kind enough, creative, whatever – that just blows me away.  I mean, I thought I was past all this.  I have been thoroughly liked and loved.  I have been told by the human who mattered most to me that I was all of those things.  Why should I need anyone else to tell me this?  I reread Ron’s amazing little love notes to me and I am satiated while I read them.  And then I want more.  I want new notes, from Ron . . . or someone else.  (Again, I feel criminal saying I want notes from someone else.  Ouch.) 

So, this is my problem.  This is what bothers me.  Why does it take someone else?  Aren’t I enough for me?  And I wonder from anyone reading – are you/would you be enough for you?  If you answer yes quickly, I challenge you to look deep within.  If the answer is still yes, tell me why/how you got there.