You interact with a bunch of different people, and then you experience a relationship with a few certain individuals, and then all of a sudden you find yourself in one relationship that changes the meaning of the word. Everything is different.
Sex before this person was good. But just good. Maybe it made you feel great, but you were still aware of everything. A thousand tiny different thoughts were still in your head as it was happening. I’m naked. My parents are gonna be home soon. We have to be quiet, my roommates will hear. My boobs are too small. My stomach’s too fat. Am I making the right noises? All these tiny little things distracted you from true enjoyment, because you lacked true comfort.
I’m the most self-conscious person. And as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized everyone’s self-conscious, and probably everyone thinks they’re the most self-conscious person. But even with people I loved, or perhaps just thought I loved, I could never reach a true sense of intimacy. I was always painstakingly aware of every thing I did in front of them.
When you find true intimacy, it’s almost an impossible thing to let go.
Maybe you and the other person are experiencing so many other troubles in your relationship, but the feeling that you get when you’re with that person almost seems to diminish all the other things. Whether it should or not.
I’m just going to say it. It’s definitely just pure speculation, but I think you achieve true intimacy when someone loves you more than you love yourself.
Now, let me explain. When I say loving yourself, I don’t mean that in a overly self-confident way. It’s just one of those implicit things. Of course, you love yourself. But you also hate yourself more than anyone else too. In the sense that you see all your flaws six thousand times worse than anyone else can see them. And you hate those little bits of yourself. You hate (okay, I hate) that my love handles come out over my jeans. I hate that when I wear a strapless shirt my arm pit fat hangs out. My eyebrows are too thin but won’t fill in. My eyes are a boring shade of brown. My lips are too big. And then it’s not the physical things, but the emotional and mental things that fuck you up. I can’t hold grudges, even to people who I should still hate. I’m never on time. I’ve always thought I was too heavy even though I’m not overweight. I do whatever makes me happy, and think of people second – which tends to get me into a lot of trouble. I close myself off to everyone when I’m upset. I act okay, then cry alone. I always have a way of fucking up everything good that I have going for me.
I take advantage, often subconsciously, of the people that love me unconditionally. I treat them the worst, because I know they’ll love me anyway.
Imperfect things that make individuals who they are. The people love you, not despite all of it. And maybe partly because of it, but sometimes they don’t even see it. With body image they either think you’re crazy or they appreciate it. They appreciate every crevice, and contour of your body. They make you feel comfortable when you’re having sex. You’re not rushing to put your shirt back on after, because you feel confident that someone sees you as beautiful. And those insecurities and realizations, like I’m selfish or narcissistic, or just a bad person in general. Those thoughts that intrude your mind when you do something really wrong. They’re the person that reminds you all the reasons that you’re not. I mean even when you explicitly point out all the reasons why you’re not a good person, instead of them thinking, “Fuck they’re right”, and immediately run in the other direction: they stay. It’s not even important to them, what becomes important is how to make you feel better.
It’s fucked up that someone who knows you so deeply can love you so much. Especially when you know yourself so deeply and can’t seem to love yourself that much.