Feeling the void

I'm not used to living alone. In college, I shared an apartment with a friend who was so codependent, she threatened suicide when I wanted to move out. Her many crazy antics during the two years we lived together left their mark on me and put me off the idea of roommates forever. So when my boyfriend and I broke up, I didn't know exactly what the future would hold, but I did know that I would be living alone.

There are upsides, of course. I can cook whatever I want without worrying about what someone else feels like eating. I can monopolize the TV and watch Bridget Jones's Diary whenever I feel like it (which is often). I can be as neat or as messy as I want and nobody else is around to pass judgment. However, it feels strange to not have anyone to come home to. There's nobody there to ask how my day was, and if it was bad, to be ready with a sympathetic ear and a comforting embrace. There's nobody there to joke around with or discuss an episode of Lost with, nobody there to help me lift heavy items or kill invading spiders. I miss knowing that a special someone would always be there for me. I miss feeling needed, loved and appreciated by someone. I miss a lot of things.

I find myself coping in typical ways. I'm eating way too much junk food (it's amazing how much comfort a warm batch of oatmeal raisin cookies can provide) and I'm overspending on purchases for myself and the apartment. I rationalize that if I have to live alone, I might as well have a nice couch. Or, since I'm now single and feeling kind of down, I might as well get a cute pair of shoes to lift my spirits. All these new material things do help me feel better for a while, but at the end of the day, it's still a little sad and disorienting to be home — sitting on an expensive couch and wearing a great pair of shoes — alone.