Notice me.

I’m thinking I might be defective.  Sure, we all are to a certain extent.  There is no perfection.  But sometimes I feel like I’m defective beyond repair.  Or beyond worth repairing.

For years, I’ve felt invisible.  I could jump up and down,wave, yell, Hi, Hi!  I’m here!  Look at me!  And nothing.  Silence.  Then, like magic, it changed.  Not in my marriage, but in the love affair that began online.

He noticed me.  You’re so fucking beautiful, he’d say.  Your beauty catches my breath, he’d say.  I love your eyes, your lips, your smile, he’d say.  Nothing like making a girl’s head swirl and her belly ache (in a good way, of course).  He would lavish me with attention – well, as much as we can do long distance – and he was there, ready and willing to pay attention to me.

All of that still applies, so he says, which, I’m not doubting him, but lately?  He’s so busy.  Yes, we all get busy, life gets in the way, things happen beyond our control and I get that, I do have a life, too.  But?  I feel pushed to the side.  Slowly sliding down that fucking ladder.  I should be used to it, really.  I mean how many years have I been told, I’m busy.  I’m working (yes, people have to work to live, etc. but sometimes, you have to remember what you have in front of your face and not take it for granted), I can’t, I don’t have time, I’ll look at it later, I’ll see if I can fit you in tomorrow, maybe another day… I’ve heard it all.  I’m hearing it now.  Selfish on my part, I know.  It’s just that it’s hard to have something you have wanted for so fucking long dangled in front of you, you can grasp it and you start to love it, get drunk on it, and then it’s snatched from you.  You just start to enjoy it and poof, it’s gone.

Of course, it could be temporary.  He won’t be busy forever, right?  He’s got stuff to think about, do, worry about and he doesn’t need me whining like a self-indulgent brat pulling at him for attention.  I don’t want to be that annoying person who becomes a royal pain in the ass.  But part of me thinks, well, why am I not  the one person allowed to say, listen I need you?  Why does this thing or that person have to come before me?  Why is that?  The words get stuck in my throat, because then he can say, you just are.  I have nothing for you today.  Or tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Soon.  Soon I will.

I miss him.  So much.  I want him to notice me.  Notice me, baby, notice me.