I was expecting the blast, but in the end it didn’t come.
I desperately tried to spend the evening not thinking that he was about to have sex with another girl, and in the end it turned out that I have to repeat the heroic test because he didn’t do it.
Not that he has done nothing.
One thing that I’m feeling growing is the deep anger every time I write “another girl,” because now we can easily talk about “her.” Recognizing her figure is something I was not ready to do yet, and I don’t feel like I am even now. He is not approaching a random girl, not anymore; this girl has stayed for at least 3 meetings and I’m afraid she will be for many others. So, the moment is approaching when I must accept that she has completely worn the lover dress, and that for the period that will follow she will be as real as the table my computer is on now. It’s not an obvious thought, only hearing about a person can give you the hope that he/she is only imaginary.
When his stories become too painful I erase their faces and limit myself to record the scene as if I were watching a porn. The whole issue could just be a figment of my imagination. But she continues to be named, through his words I begin to recognize a pattern of behaviour, her personality, her way of relating to him. Knowing that she is real is the most painful discovery of the day.
His “updates” are starting to have a sour taste of jealousy, because my head automatically depicts the moment when they look at each other and assume that kind of expression typical of two people who share something (even the only intention of spending the whole night together), and it’s something that makes me mad.
When I tried talking to him today, I realized I did that kind of nonsense-talk I wanted to avoid so much, that one dictated by pure emotions. What I feel stronger than anything else now is insecurity and jealousy. Having these two, I push to him the responsibility to make me feel better: I would like for him to fail in his attempts with her because he cannot quite take away from his body the imprinting “I wake up only when she is here, MY girl.”
I also realized that I’m afraid of his silences and his words, I’m afraid to believe and accept it when he says that he would not be able to do it with a girl he doesn’t know, that he wants her to have a little crush on him, that he still doesn’t know if he wants to maintain contact with her in the future.
I feel a bit like a kid who covers their ears and starts screaming in order not to hear anything. I cover my ears over what he says and I shout that whatever he does I feel worse and worse.
Today is the day where I also realize that I’m seriously beginning to be jealous, and the fact that I can’t see him every day leaves me without any security on my role. So just as she might be imaginary, even I could be that. She is part of the stories I hear through the phone, but at least they see each other. Often. I’m the one whose only contact with the “Couple Reality” is the phone, and spends her days biting her tongue. I might be a ghost, a story that he occasionally tells her when she gets too curious.
Another thing that becomes increasingly evident is her interest in him. She can also write on her face that he doesn’t want any relationship, but for me it doesn’t change the fact that she dares to text him that she absolutely wants to fuck him. I wish I had the power to blow up that phone in her hand.
This is probably the step I thought I’d have to overcome: from “insecurity and jealousy” to “jealousy + insecurity = competition.” The hardest step, being able to take all this and turn it to my advantage. But how can I do it if I feel totally trampled under foot? The hints of pride impel me to avoid any kind of good will because it would be like putting my head in the sand, if I leave them free to create me problems. Yes darling, come, fuck my boyfriend, take a crush on him, no don’t care about me, I’ll be invisible next to the dresser, do as if I were not here.
I have to face their first time (and if I have understood how my twisted sense of jealousy works, I’ll have to face even the next times), find a way to create the chemical reaction for the competition, readjust my body because I cannot go on for that long not eating and sleeping 5 hours a night, to build something that will give me back a clear identity. The person I was proud to be is not doing anything extraordinary at the moment, just listening like a good moron to her boyfriend telling her that her girl-friend has rubbed herself on him, horny as ever.
I must find a way to return to myself, I’m afraid that if I lose the right time to raise my head, I’ll stay submerged for a long time.
Soon they will fuck, I gotta pull myself up. Shit.
I can’t go to war without weapons.