Guest5678 Posted January 25, 2006 Posted January 25, 2006 My girlfriend, Andrea, is a massage therapist. She massages people. I have a problem when she meets new men that she gives a massage to. Every time. I cannot stand to hear about them. Either they are sleazy or they are ****ing fantastic and cool. Either way when I hear about them I become either jealous or disturbed. Jealous of the fantastic and disturbed by the sleazy. I prefer to be disturbe because at least then her and I are both on the same page. It’s the ****ing fantastic ones that give me the worst feeling. I am worried that she will see something in them that she does not see in me. Indeed she uses such an ecstatic connotation when describing them to me. This situation is even deeper than the shallow remarks that I just made. I am constantly searching to make sense out of life. In this constant search I have come upon things that I have grown to believe. One of these is that we are one. Her and I and you and him and them and God. It is all the same at what I call the bottom of the bottom, and I can experience knowing this and the slightly better mood that it puts me in but that can go away with one phone call. I can tell myself a thousand times that I am for me and my own growth has nothing to do with anyone else, even Andrea. So I feel better, because I am God, and God told me so. Great now I’m centered. But oh wait, Andrea is massaging a vegan who has himself on a no mucous diet and they’re exchanging e-mail addresses, and recipes for non-chocolate chocolate ****ing milkshakes that seem more delicious than our relationship. Great there goes my center right out the ****ing window. So what do I do? I’m not good at acting unbothered. I want her to know even though I know her response will be a clear message that I am being ridiculous. So knowing that I am being ridiculous before she even tells me that I am or before I even decide to let her know that I am by failing to act unbothered doesn’t change the physical discomfort that I have in my chest right now. It is my emotion-trap. Me to Myself: “This new guy that she is massaging- Note* This means she is rubbing his naked body with her hands and in a lot of cases (you’re not going to believe this) with her ****ing feet. That’s right Ashaitsu baby. Never heard of that one before? Me either until I met Andrea and fell head over my clumsy heels for her. Are feet an intimate body part to anyone else? Why does that just seem perverse to me? Oh wait I know why, because of foot fetishes and the fact that “Holy **** this chick is standing on me with her bare feet, this is so hot!” goes through any man’s mind (as far as my self-torturing mind is concerned) that she gives an Ashiatsu massage to. is not you and she loves you and she tells you that constantly when she catches on to the fact that you just threw yourself back into your pit of insecurity about something. You have nothing to worry about.” Now what I just said to myself can be said to myself in less than it takes me to get denied credit which seems to be instantaneous. But as soon as I tell myself this I begin to create a mental image of the vegan whose mucous free body gets to be rubbed all over by my girlfriend. The bottom line of my mental image of these fantastic ones is that they are always better for her in my mind than I am. My fear is that she will see that eventually so when one of the fantastic ****ers gets granted the promotion from Person Whose Body I Tenderly Rub Down With My Hands & Feet to Person Whose Body I Tenderly Rub Down With My Hands & Feet & Exchange E-mail Addresses & Personal Life **** With I begin to get even more worried. Why is that? Is that because I want her all to myself? I know that I shouldn’t want that. I know that to want something like that is a hindrance to both of us. I know I know it I know it but who cares because the knowing never changes the wanting. It is the absurdity of this contradiction between my philosophy and my experience that is the source of my latest frustration in life. So back to the point here, which if I stop typing (I just did) and try to think of leaves me blank but still with that discomfort. There is no point, I’m retarded that’s the point. Oh yeah, the point was the answer to the question why do I get more worried by the promoted massage client. I know why. It is because of the greatest source of my self-doubt, non-acceptance. She accepts him on a level that she would not just accept anyone else on. This means he is special to her. So to the degree that I am more special than the non promoted, I am that much less more special to her than the promoted. He is gaining on me and I don’t like that at all. In the race to win Andrea, he has just taken a giant leap toward the front runner. I know that I am the front runner, but I take no solace in that. I take fear in losing that, and that fear makes me want to let him catch up to me so that I can trip his ass and watch him fall. Wow that’s ****ed. Way it is. I’m afraid that I’m just afraid. So then my mind says to itself. “You know this sublime truth. The fear of losing something is futile because you have everything that you will ever need wrapped up in the warm embrace of your loving soul. If you fear that you will lose something it is not you that fears the loss but your ego. It is only your ego that fears the loss of something outside of yourself because it is only the ego that requires that which it does not already have” You would think that knowing this sort of thing would send me running full boar through the closest field of daisies but it doesn’t. It makes me frustrated that I can know that and not experience it. I makes me want to stop typing this now. I guess the answer is either to lock her up in a box and take from her what I want and allow none for anyone else or to set her free from the secure restraints of my insecurity. Now I don’t really like either one of those.
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