Written mid-spiral, while comparing myself to girls who don’t even know I exist.
.·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:.
I’ve never been cheated on. But the idea of it feels like it would shatter me completely. No one has ever looked me in the eyes and said they loved someone else. But I’ve imagined it so many times, I’m not sure it would feel any different. Maybe it would feel different. It obviously would.
.·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:.
I think it’s about being chosen second. It’s about my significant other’s looking at me, my face, my body, my softness or lack of it and deciding someone else is more. More beautiful, more captivating, more desirable. It’s the comparison that breaks me. The imagined moment of his looking at someone else and thinking: her, not you.
And maybe that’s because I’ve never truly believed I was beautiful. Not in the way that makes people stop in their tracks anyway. Not in the way that protects you from being left. Being beautiful always seems like a way to be chosen, to be safe, to be loved without needing to beg for it.
.·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:.
I’ve always envied girls who are beautiful in a way that feels permanent. The kind of beauty that people don’t walk away from. Mine has always felt… negotiable. Like my significant other could look at me one day and just decide: not anymore.
Even though no one has ever cheated on me, I carry the fear. Like something I’ve been bracing for my whole life. Because if someone ever does look at someone else and chooses them over me, it will confirm everything I already suspect about myself. That I had never been enough.
That I was always just a placeholder until something better came along.
.·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:..·:·:·:·:·:.
When these kinda thoughts hit me, I usually do something to put my attention elsewhere. Like in So I Dyed It Black.
Leave a Reply