From We to Me

Quiet. It's deafening. The empty halls that promised the pitter-patter of little feet scream an empty echo of my stiletto heels as I head out for the day. Dust puppies are the only thing growing here.

I find myself turning on the whole-house stereo, and the TV (the one that is left), though I never listen to either.

It's too hard to listen to music these days. Where did all the happy songs go? Studied under the microscope of a break-up, they are painful ballads set to a bouncy tune.

It's not the man I miss, it's the companionship. Just as one who has experienced the loss of a limb, I feel the ache of the missing partner that is no longer there. I don't even remember the face, but I know deep down I used to be part of something more.

After an entire adult life as part of a we, it's so hard to be just a me.

Filling my days and nights with endless meetings, projects, and work is only tearing me down; my weary head aches to lean on a strong shoulder. When will I learn to stand tall--alone?

Karma is teaching me a valuable lesson: You must be happy alone before you can move on. Here's the strange part: I find myself wanting to be alone more--even though the sadness drifts through my days. I think I want to retreat from the friends wanting to make me happy--I'm tired of trying to reconcile why I am still alone. Still: quiet, stagnate, stark. I am still. I am alone.

Here's the good news: I know better than to jump into a relationship with someone, anyone. I'm an addict that needs to stay away from the hug drug. It's so tempting to let faceless arms hold me. But I'm afraid, very afraid.

Instead, I continue on this path. One foot in front of the other. Day by day. I will make it through Valentine's Day and my Birthday and my Anniversary. Please let this journey take me down a path that reminds me how to be me. Just me.