Self love is the best kinda love.

February 21, 2008 fidgetkitten

Last night I was lying in bed, all tucked up next to a sleepy Alex and I got to wondering if there is such a thing as love. I know, I know…I’m highly unoriginal when it comes to my musings, before you know it I will be onto the meaning of life and why we are here!

Anyway, I am the sort of person that I just have to give all of myself to the person I’m with. Unflinchingly, steadfastly in the face of all reason telling me to dump the idiot and run in some instances.I feel guilty if things go wrong, a failure if I’ve not made that person THE CENTRE! I am not sure why, perhaps a unique form of narcissism? After all, there can’t be guilt without the belief we are sooooo important that everything we do/don’t do/say/don’t say affects another person so badly. I mean, if I don’t make sure there are always clean underpants in Alex’s drawer perhaps he will just not give a shit and fetch a pair from the clean washing basket. For me to feel guilty that I’ve not been a good enough wife/subby if said pants are left in the basket seems to point to the fact I think my actions always mean something, and therefore I am so important *I* always mean something, right?

I mean, Alex never made a rule about there being pants in the drawer. He never said “pants in the drawer at all times or it’s a beating for you, girl!” (Although now I’m wishing he had because I imagined him saying that and my pink parts are tingly) ..It’s just me….I have to make sure even the littlest detail is taken care of for the person I love. Phyisically and emotionally. Let me tell you a secret…I put up with a whooole load of crap behaviour in my life from just about everyone and blamed…well…me. (Now you have to admit that HAS to be narcissism)

And Alex, well, he had a lonely childhood. It’s not really my place to tell you all about it here, unless he ever says it’s ok, but he had a puretty lonely childhood, so he is a love sponge. Can’t get enough….enough love, enough attention, enough fussing…..and thinks the fact I love to make sure his pants are in the drawer, folded just how he likes them (plus the million other things) make me about perfect. No amount of fussing, or being the centre of my world, THE world, could ever be enough for him. So, we fit perfectly.

(see, I got loooads of column space about me….self love )

So, I pondered this as my eyes got heavy and I wondered, perhaps, all love is, is the pairing of two addicts? Romantic! Perhaps I have a need, an addiction, to self love through the way I act in relationships…and Alex has an addiction to self love through…well…obvious self love ..Perhaps all we do when we love someone is love ourselves. Is that all love is?

I must have been restless, or perhaps Alex can read my mind in his sleep because at that moment he pulled me closer in the crook of his arm and kissed my nose. He was warm and sleepy and I pushed my nose into his armpit and he smelled so ..well…Alexie and a fat rush of luuurve washed right over me. I don’t really care why we love, or what love is when it feels that warm and fuzzy!

So, I gently shook him awake and asked permission to massage him, which he gave and in the very dark night I practiced a little self love. Not of the hands on my cunt kind, but one with just as sweet an ending!

Au Revoir pour l’instant, mes ami.

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