touch starved

 I am incredibly touch starved.

I have always known that my love language is physical contact, without ever having to take a Buzzfeed quiz to find out. I've known since I was five years old and I would crawl into my parents bed every morning, asking them to cuddle with me. Since I was 10 and realized that my favorite thing was to have my grandfather stroke my back with a piece of straw. Since I was 13 and only needed my mother to brush my hair to calm me down when I was angry.

I love hugs, great big bear hugs that knock the air out of you for a second. I always want a hug, no matter what mood I'm in. My parents have worried for me since I was a child, that one day, I was going to hug the wrong stranger and get kidnapped. I like to think I give wonderful hugs, the kind that let you know I am just overjoyed to see you. Real hugs, not a small squeeze with one arm. 

I want to hold hands or link arms or knock my hip against yours. I want to cuddle, with anyone, just the two of us curled up under a blanket, our arms and legs knotted together. 

But-

We are in the middle of a global pandemic. One that requires to wear masks and stay six feet apart from each other. One that allows no hugs, no holding of hands, no linking of arms. One that doesn't allow me to touch anyone. I haven't received a hug from anyone but my family since last March. 

And I am so touch starved. I miss being able to meet someone new and shake their hand. I miss seeing an old friend and hugging them in greeting.

I've never been one to have lots and lots of friends. I've always enjoyed being by myself with my books and my art.

But, God. This is the loneliest I've ever felt.