Love and desire are opposing forces, a paradox in which only one can live.
There’s an idea that vertigo is less a fear of heights and more a fear that you might jump. A similar sensation can be found in certain social situations.
What if being desired and being wanted as a person are two completely different feelings? For men, women are easily desirable. We are beautiful in our way, each and every one. They don’t seem to notice that extra 5 pounds or that makeup you have had on since 6am this morning.
Perhaps it was my deep animalistic urge for companionship, the extrovert in me who wanted to be everybody’s everyone or just too much Disney as a kid.
I want a man with excellent taste and style–who takes the utmost pride in his appearance. But he can’t be a pretty boy or dress too well and he certainly can’t look better than ME.
I had a female friend who would always disparage young women who dated older guys (of course, said disparagement was aimed not very subtly at me).
Sometimes we don’t realize that we are choosing to be discontent with our lives. We are living someone else’s version of success. We are making decisions based on which ones will get people to like us more.
You actually go over lists in your head of all the reasons why it’s not a good idea to like them, and how you could never like them in practice because they’re totally wrong for you.
When we talk about jealousy now it’s always something you want to rid yourself of, something that feels foreign. Even in the grip of it, does it not feel like you’re being taken over by an unwanted foreign antibody? We talk about it as if we’re victim to it, but in reality we’re not.
It consumes me. This desire to be skinny, small, too small. Even though I see the numbers get lower, I feel like I look the same. It frustrates me.