It's 4am and I can't sleep. My mind is too busy, so I thought I'd let it all out here. I'm guessing this will piss some people off but I don't mean it to. Anyone that reads this (all four of you) will hear it all sooner or later anyway, and I really need to get it off my chest now.
To cut a long story short, my boyfriend started telling me about a night out a long time ago that he referred to as "the best evening ever" because of all the "hot girls". I was fine with the part about partying with transvestites and crazy people with guns. I was even OK with the thought that a bunch of strippers - who happened to be colleagues of his friend's wife - got their tits out to show off their boob jobs.
My curiosity plummeted when his "best evening ever" ended with him getting laid with one of the sluts. I mean, strippers. Wait, what's the difference? Oh, right, one gets paid.
I know every person above the age of, say, 25 has been with a bunch of people in their lives, of course. That's not the issue. We've talked about exes before, extensively, without a hint of resentment.
Let me just add in here that the last few days my confidence and self esteem has been floating somewhere around my ankles.
Now, I know he didn't mean any harm by it and even said he wished he hadn't mentioned it at all (right before he fell asleep... lucky for some) but that doesn't make it easier on my mind. My mind has still drawn a spider diagram in a notebook, with the words "stripper", "laid", "hot girls", my boyfriend's name and the quoted "best evening ever" all circled and joined to each other, and if you turn over the page there I am, connected up with "fat", "inexperienced" and "sorry excuse for a female".
My self-esteem is now ground into the carpet.
I'm taking bets on how long it will be before I can look in the mirror and like or even accept what I see. This morning the running average was two weeks. Now, I'm not so sure.
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