Answers Forthcoming

Lately when I've been lying in bed at night I've felt an immeasurable desire to hold someone. Just hold, nothing else. In my arms. Just a normal longing to be touched, I thought. At times I can't stand to be touched, but at the same time I seem to need it. A painful drug. I've spent the past week only able to fall asleep with my arms wrapped around myself. I considered bringing an old stuffie into bed with me, but I didn't. Not because it's something I felt was beneath me - I've done it before, when I needed something to cuddle - but something was stopping me. Some nagging feeling that something, fundamentally, just wasn't right. Something, somewhere, had gone wrong.
It was then that I had a sudden, jaw-dropping realization.

Humans were never meant to sleep alone.
Pause for a moment to let that sink in.

It's something that probably dates back to the Origins. I have no idea when the modernization occurred. Children slept with their parents, spouses slept together. Even if you didn't have a partner, you always had a family. At some point, sexuality raised its ugly (yet unreasonably attractive) head and people started to say, hey, maybe we shouldn't be doing this, it might be kind of... wrong. Ever since sharing a bed began to mean the same thing as sex. Human association killed a basic part of human nature.
And now it's impossible to find someone to sleep with. I'd get slapped, for a start, and then go through the various layers of management with It's just sleeping, literally, sleeping, nothing else, and none of them would believe me. There's family, of course, but I don't think they'd quite understand. Besides, human association... no one would be quite comfortable sleeping with a family member. Not any more. And since the definitions of children and adults have changed, so much, the relationship model is pretty much destroyed, and homosexuality is on the rampage, these days finding someone to share your bed is damn near impossible. I continue to sleep restlessly.
You ever wonder why babies cry so much at night? I'm just saying.

An Average Night At Youth:
Arrive. Spend several minutes standing around awkwardly while people arrive that will let me talk to them.
When Danica arrives she hugs me briefly. I wonder if she does this for me or for her.
We talk. We catch up. I make something of an effort to talk to other people. I don't want to seem dependent on her.
There's music. I stand at the back and listen. People don't seem to care as much as they used to. Maybe that will pass.
There's a talk. In the end, everything comes down to the same message. At times it is geared towards giving of yourself, being less selfish, thinking more of others. The usual spiel. I feel guilty.
There's music again, a softer music. If anything meaningful is to happen, it will happen now. Sometimes there's a call for those with troubles to come up to the front. I've been up there more times than most.
As usual, God is right. He supports me and wants me to get better. The only one who's keeping me down is myself. I sometimes hate not being able to blame God as others do. If I am feeling brave, I will let Him touch me. It is painful. Healing hurts.
I let dangerous emotions emerge. Hate, despair, loneliness, the ones that cannot be controlled but cannot be released. They course though me, tearing me apart. I sit with them until they go back down again. I have to feel them sometimes.
Occasionally people will ask if I'm okay. I answer "yes" when I am and "I'm fine" when I'm not. This is their time as well as mine. I don't want to spoil it.
If I'm not looking well, Danica might hold my hand. I think public displays of affection still make her slightly uncomfortable, so I almost wish she wouldn't. At the same time, though, I'm glad that she's there for me. For all my talk, I don't really want to be alone.
I go outside a lot, when I need a moment to collect myself. Some of the most important moments of my life have happened in one spot out front, next to the pillar. I find that no matter the time of the day, time of the year, or even the time of the month, from that spot the sky always looks beautiful.
I spend a lot of time alone. For reasons I can't explain I don't want to feel anything.
A lot of the time I think what God wants for me is to be healed. Just like that. Made better, to become the giant I have the potential to be. The thought scares me. Moloch says it's because I don't want to take responsibility for my life. Then the others laugh. They're right. Broken is what I've always been. I don't think we could cope being whole.
Sometimes there's happiness. There's always that to hope for.