Speak My Language

I'm really good at blaming myself for everything.  And, it doesn't help that I've had some pretty awesome men in my life that take to pointing the finger at me and strip me of my self esteem to where I feel like I haven't much mastered the art of knowing who I am much less how to love myself or anyone else for that matter.

 I am not a touchy-feely person.  For months leading up to Him leaving, I'd tell my girl friends, "I just don't want to be touched."  The thought of someone putting their arms around me made my skin feel like I was being poked with needles.  The Marbles would want to cuddle with me and for a few seconds I would be a big pile of goo holding them in my arms, then that moment would fade and all I could think was when they would be ready to get off me.  So, as you can imagine the not wanting to be touched trickled down to other intimate parts of my life and BAM....He found himself someone who did want to be touched and now here I am.  I have my Yellow Marble next to be in bed snoring and I'm alone.  But, I asked for this right?  I didn't want to be touched.  Therefore, no one is touching me.

I am still not one that feels comfortable being affectionate and I have realized perhaps it's just part of my personality.  While in a therapy session with the Marble's the therapist was talking about our different Love Languages.  There are five Love Languages:  Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Receiving Gifts, Quality Time and Physical Touch.  I knew immediately what Love Language I didn't speak-Physical Touch.  I also knew immediately which one I screamed from the rooftops of every house I lived in - "AHHHHH ACCCTTTS of SSSSERRRRRVVVICCEEEE".  Please let me show you how much I love you by doing your laundry, washing your floors, painting your house, cleaning your kitchen, vacuuming your floors, running your errands, driving you to the airport even if it's in the complete opposite direction I am going, writing your college essays for you, paying the bills on time, grocery shopping, making the bed and arranging all the decorative pillows so they look like it's out of a magazine.  You get the idea?  It's no wonder I speak this Love Language because it would explain my personality type and why I feel like I can't ever relax because I feel so much love for those around me that I always have to be doing stuff for them.  See, it all makes sense.  It's just He never realized it.  He never saw that when he came home and he had clean underwear and freshly washed sheets to sleep on and a clean floor to walk on and a shiny table to eat off of that it was oozing love.  That was my gigantic hug to him.