The Emptiness Beside Me

Ending my marriage meant that I was creating an empty spot in my bed for the first time in four years. At first going to bed was wonderful - I slept in the middle with my legs spread far and wide, I slept on the left and I slept on the right. It was my bed and I could sleep where I wanted and all of the pillows were mine - no more risk of them being stolen and drooled upon. I could sleep confident that any drool that happened upon my pillows is mine and only mine, which is, in itself, a pretty nice feeling.

But over the past few months my enjoyment of bedtime freedom has faded, and I have parked myself on the left side of the bed and resumed sleeping in the fetal position. I have taken to using only two of the four pillows on my bed - the remaining pillows fluffed, propped and ready for someone to make them his own. In the morning, and sometimes during the night, I wake up, turn over and look at the unrumpled covers and emptiness beside me and feel an emptiness inside me. It isn't of course that side of the bed that bothers me but the absence it represents. Gone are the sounds of breathing, the warmth, the security, the companionship created when another human shares your sleeping space. In their place longing tugs at my heart and fills the room.

There is just something about going to bed alone every night - in a completely empty apartment on those nights when my daughter is with X- that just reeks of loneliness. Waking up every morning without a friendly face beside yours, no warm body to cuddle close to, just you and you only is harder than I supposed it would be to grow accustomed to.

I used to feel lonely while I was married to X. And now I am lonely though with Mr. Slick.

What is this hole that I can't seem to fill?