This was me. Horrified by affection. Like…
Ummm why are you kissing me right now?
With a 180 degree rotation of her frame, I was using the long baggy sleeve of my shirt to wipe her affection off with the routine of a digital clock.
Regardless, it didn’t matter which woman it was. Her affections were getting ejected like a cassette tape from a boom box.
Furthermore, I was embarrassed, ashamed and oblivious to the fact that this woman (whoever she was) truly loved me. Perhaps her love language was, “Physical Touch,” —an extension of what she desired from me—projected on me.
Nevertheless, I was not interested in her advances.
Such an emotionally recalcitrant nature I had. Somehow, I believed anything that made me drop my bravado was an ignominious defeat of my masculinity. Needless to say, I was vexed at my reaction.
Love lessons a father would teach were absent from birth. A mother’s tutelage only goes the length of my fractious receptiveness. She couldn’t teach me about the journey called manhood and the whispers of pride reverberating like an expatiation of egotistical grandeur.
As a result, I was left bereft of direction. I became a desolate plain of tumbleweeds and carrion that was internally dead. Much worse, I had no idea how to express myself.
The moment I felt the desire to speak, a parched, cotton-mouthed feeling would well up in my mouth, preventing me from telling her…
I love you too.
What was it that prevented me from responding to her advances? At this time, I couldn’t figure it out. At first, I thought it was the absence of my father. Then, I thought it was pride and ego. No matter what it is, her touch was offensive to me, her proximity revolting. I was genuinely disgusted.
How did I end up in this place when my mother consistently showered me with affection? If I was listening to the opinions of others, I believe it was derived from a place of defeat. Maybe it was a woman that ripped my heart from its home and I needed to heal emotionally and mentally. Yet, here I was being suffocated by a woman I should not be with. I persisted on because there were glimmers of hope, moments of receptiveness. I thought I was coming out of whatever I was experiencing.
All things considered, I finally realized it was a distraction. I should’ve left a long time ago. Instead, I remained.
The more my aloofness persisted, the more she became suspicious of my nonexistent disloyalty. Insecurities were abundant. Arguments were reoccurring. To acquiesce to her affection was something I was not on board with until I came to the realization,
It was [her] affection I pushed away from like the two north poles on a magnet…
…my relationship was reaching its conclusion. All the trials and tribulations had taken their toll and I did not view [her] in the same light. Not to mention, the connection was cut, the lights were off, and darkness had befallen us.
Figuring it Out
I’ve learned so much over the last 10 years regarding affection. Most of all, I’ve learned my emotional limits and tolerance levels. However, I’ve also learned the connection of communication (verbal and nonverbal) is stronger than a physical connection. When we lose that connection, everything else falls apart. As a result, we will stop talking and sharing. Furthermore, listening is replaced with heated debates and pointless arguments that never reach a mutual solution.
It’s the end and we don’t want to turn the page. Instead, we turn the page back to the 3rd chapter in some form of nostalgia—hoping our love is somehow retroactive.