So W put me neatly in my place this evening.
I was being…a little snarky. I know, I know–hard to believe, right? Moi?? Snarking? But okay, I do occasionally, snipe a bit. Just a bit. Just every once in awhile. And (sigh) it’s usually about some girl or other. This time it was in regards to this girl that he played with a couple times. “The Tart” I called her, for no other reason than I didn’t want to give her a real name, see her as a real person. She was just some chick that he played with. And slept with, all night, in his bed, without me knowing a thing about her, that she was even there…
Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah… Are you crying, “Bullshit!” yet? “What a pile of shit that is, oh Ms. PolyPerfecto”? Because I am. I can excuse my insecurities all I want, but the truth of the matter is that, for whatever reason, I felt threatened by her. By her freshness. By something in her eyes, by some…desire…I sensed on her part. To…go places, with him. A desire I recognized. A desire I’d come to him with myself. And…bottom line, I was afraid he’d like her more than me. Like her youth and her pale skin and her fiery red hair and her innocence.
And he wouldn’t want me anymore.
How’s that for bass-akwards? Why can’t I believe that my guys will love me and want me just as much even if they want someone else? I do. What I feel for one doesn’t diminish one iota what I feel for the other. In fact, I believe it enhances & multiplies what I feel for the other. The fact that they can let me be me, let me do what I do, and still love me? Still want me, sometimes even more so? How could I not love them to death?
But maybe what I am talking about feeling insecure about isn’t love. Maybe it’s desire.
Because I want to be desired. I want to be dreamt of, longed for, yearned after. Even when they are with someone else I want it to be me they are thinking of. I want to be the hottest fucking girl they’ve ever fucked, they’ve ever wanted, they’ve ever been with.
I’m selfish like that. Unreasonable, and, at times, unreasoning.
Anyway, once I realized that she wasn’t going to supplant me, either in his affections or his life or his desire, I recognized what an insecure cow I was being, and I worked hard to adjust my thinking. I actually allowed her to have a name, and was able to think about the reality of her, which never had been a threat to me. What we make up in our heads is always so much scarier than the reality, which is usually quite mundane. (No smartass remarks from the peanut gallery about how easy it is for me to feel “secure” when she’s moved away anyway, by the way.)
Then, tonight, wandering through FL, I saw a picture she posted of a scene they had had. Of her, curled up, in W’s cage. And…for no other reason than that I was feeling pugnacious, I sent him a snarky note about “my” cage. His response? “I wonder if So-and-So is irked too,” naming another of his play partners, who came well before me, and, obviously, spent some time in that cage. Before me.
Score: 1 for the WoodDemon, 0 for Jade. And that’s what I get for being snarky.