Before I begin to explain the absolute devastation I experienced last night, you must first understand how this one characteristic was my pride and joy of my relationship. Being that the entirety of my relationship has been quintessentially fighting, arguing, crying, and missing one another, it has never been an easy feat to have people be happy to see us together. Most of the time, my feelings have been either ignored or labeled as "ridiculous"; as if any possible cognizant emotion fermenting within my heart is naturally a spasm of paranoid skepticism - no bona fide validity. Be it that it may, I do endure hardships with controlling my emotions - whether or not I'm happy is out of my control and to be so helpless as to not even appreciate moments of life that most shall never experience saddens me to no end. Regardless, I still am a person of intellect and passion and due to such I know what I want and expect in my relationship: things I must argue for to receive.
This one characteristic I refer to has always been, whether arguing or blissfully happy, a constant through out our year and a half long relationship. He has always been loyal to me - to such an extreme that he cares not to look at other women. My body is the only one he has eyes for; and it is this fact that has appeased my hyperbolic extremity of self-consciousness. I am a person of intellect in such a way that I could not even comprehend the emotional corroboration of love; how is there biological, physical proof to its existence? Parents are supposed to unconditionally love their children, though in my experience I received nothing but belittlement and castigation. Is this love? Well I was imprinted to believe so - until he came along. His unconditional need and longing for me has always been all the physical proof I need; the connection and out-pour of emotion during our intimacy, all the biological.
Last night I was told that the intimacy and sexuality that once flourished between us in such a beautiful way, he ignores and oppresses because he cannot help but wander his eyes astray. Where to - to the breasts and asses of other women. In my absence due to the long distance, his hormones are too strong to remain visually loyal. Yet, contradictorily, he has always promised me I am the heart of his desire; such feelings can only be catalyzed by me and my body. Hell of a promise. Argument and ostracization soon followed - which made me feel as paranoid and skeptic as he always had considering "checking out" other women is a natural, common practice. Most men do so and such habits hold no reflection of their want to only be with the one they love.
And yet I could not help but be infuriated. When we share each other, is he thinking of someone else: When we go out, is he looking at someone else: When he fantasizes, is it about me or someone else? How do I know? And I need to know; I can't bear not knowing for certain or not being able to appease the insecurity now stirring within me. I had never been taught love and therefore my entire belief of love has been built upon the idealistic, perfect perspective portrayed within centuries of literature. And through this I feel that if you truly love someone, you would only want to look at the one you love. Though he claims he does only want to look at me. Then why do you look at them?
