Jealousy has never been my thing.
I know the people who love me are totally devoted to me. It's what I demand, what I require. And I never have to say it. I expect it and it happens. Period. So I'm not jealous in my relationships with other people, ESPECIALLY not with men.
I also have a high opinion-high, NOT exaggerated-of my own intelligence. Yes, I AM fucking brilliant. Every time it's been tested, it's been more than adequately proven-above and beyond proven, to use a cliche. And everyone I've met with that or higher levels, I've been more than able to keep up with. So I'm not jealous of anyone else's intellect.
ANd my writing skills. Yes, I AM good. I know it. And hell, I love doing it. I've been at it for twenty years, and though I've always been excellent, my style-I'm sure-has matured since I was four. So I'm not jealous of anyone else in that area either.
Only now...
Now all of that is being called into question. All of it. Now I'm so consumed by jealousy I think I might go mad. And it might not be so bad if it were different people. But all of it, every aspect is focused on just one. One person who shares the heart of the man I love, the mind of the man who wants me. One person who, though years younger, far outshines me in brilliance. One person who writes with a passion I'm not capable of, twisting the words I once claimed as mine into patterns more varied and complex than I could ever hope to achieve. One person who has it all, who is everything I wish I were, everything I've ever longed to be-including beautiful. One person who can inspire in me this much agony, this deep a sense of loss. This intense an emotion-I love her. God, I think I should hate her. But she has my love, my loyalty, my compassion, my understanding, my sympathy, my trust, my respect, my admiration. And you know what the most fucked up thing about this is? SHE wants to be like ME. She admires me, looks up to me, respects me, trusts me. Holy fuck, the world doesn't make sense.
Laters
I know the people who love me are totally devoted to me. It's what I demand, what I require. And I never have to say it. I expect it and it happens. Period. So I'm not jealous in my relationships with other people, ESPECIALLY not with men.
I also have a high opinion-high, NOT exaggerated-of my own intelligence. Yes, I AM fucking brilliant. Every time it's been tested, it's been more than adequately proven-above and beyond proven, to use a cliche. And everyone I've met with that or higher levels, I've been more than able to keep up with. So I'm not jealous of anyone else's intellect.
ANd my writing skills. Yes, I AM good. I know it. And hell, I love doing it. I've been at it for twenty years, and though I've always been excellent, my style-I'm sure-has matured since I was four. So I'm not jealous of anyone else in that area either.
Only now...
Now all of that is being called into question. All of it. Now I'm so consumed by jealousy I think I might go mad. And it might not be so bad if it were different people. But all of it, every aspect is focused on just one. One person who shares the heart of the man I love, the mind of the man who wants me. One person who, though years younger, far outshines me in brilliance. One person who writes with a passion I'm not capable of, twisting the words I once claimed as mine into patterns more varied and complex than I could ever hope to achieve. One person who has it all, who is everything I wish I were, everything I've ever longed to be-including beautiful. One person who can inspire in me this much agony, this deep a sense of loss. This intense an emotion-I love her. God, I think I should hate her. But she has my love, my loyalty, my compassion, my understanding, my sympathy, my trust, my respect, my admiration. And you know what the most fucked up thing about this is? SHE wants to be like ME. She admires me, looks up to me, respects me, trusts me. Holy fuck, the world doesn't make sense.
Laters
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