GenQ - For the not so straight individual

I don't normally condone self-pity, but I'm sitting here watching The Biggest Loser and wondering if that title could in fact be mine. The reality show's contestants leap out of their comfort zones, striving for a goal dear to them. I, on the other hand, force numbness and resign myself to inactivity. I'm not struggling with weight loss; I'm sabotaging a relationship.

My girlfriend leaves for Japan in three weeks. This isn't a holiday; it's a six-month adventure on route to a job in the UK. The dreaded word ?indefinite? has been uttered. And while I played the role of supportive partner over the months of planning, it's slowly hitting home that pretty soon she'll be in another continent. But rather than relishing our last days, I'm withdrawing into a selfish world.

What's wrong with me?

That could be, ?What's wrong with everyone?? There's a bizarre sequence of events occurring behind every closed door. When faced with a change, an unfamiliar set of circumstances, or a feared outcome, we humans tend to respond in one of two ways: we devour the stimulus or devour ourselves. As it sounds remarkably similar to the fight or flight response, you could be forgiven for thinking there is nothing bizarre about this process. But fight or flight is handy when someone is poking a stick in your eye or about to kick you in the shin. When you simply miss the bus, crash in a meeting, or have your partner move away, it seems awfully dramatic to instigate one of the body's most primal responses.

And all too easy. After a particularly difficult day, we fantasise about unwinding with a trashy magazine and a glass wine, a DVD and a pizza, a bubble bath, a run... It's as though the body and mind reach a point of critical mass, where fight gives way to flight, and human interaction gives way to solitude. I'm there.

Just as determination and hard work can burn out the very dream that inspired them, support, enthusiasm, and happiness have been out to bat so repeatedly in past months that they seem to have wearied the very love they emerged from. But does this response actually affect the original dream and love, or is it simply a cushioning to protect our own vulnerabilities?

A week ago I argued that my behaviour was simply evidence that I could live alone, that I was a person of my own, and that love would not contain me. I have slowly learned however, that my inactivity and refusal to confront the emotions I feared ? loss, sadness, and disorientation ? actually succeeded in removing all traces of my own ?human-ness? and trapped me within self-denial. I didn't become a person of my own or prove that I could live alone, as my wants, desires and fears were buffered to such an extent that I was numb. Just as dreams must be elusive to remain fresh and challenging, I realised that I was not living if I didn't allow my heart to break. I had taken the easy way out.

Now here I am, experiencing a surreal moment within an ad break, and wondering how I was so blind to the lazy tricks of my own mind. There must be countless others who have suffered a similar fate. But I also feel true wonderment at the scale of a love that my heart felt so drawn to protect; how many have yet to experience this joy? Far too often we flee and hide within ourselves when the most momentous occasions stem from confronting and interacting with others ? as terrifying as that prospect can be.

Finally ? like those excess pounds ? my buffer has been lifted, and I can now see just how close I came to becoming the Biggest Loser. There are three weeks until the finish line and my heart has never felt stronger. I'll fight until the end.