It was an accident...

I wasn't snooping in his drawers. I haven't snooped in his drawers ever, despite the time he spends leaving me alone in his house while he's at work. I'm a highly territorial person and while he isn't, I only get into things when he's there to watch and cleverly distract me if I get into something he doesn't want me to. But I was at the apartment while he was at work and I was doing the laundry. The last longish while he's had a pile of clothes hung attractively on the floor (where all clothes belong) and he made a few comments about really needing to put the things away... But he never got around to it and since I was trying to be a nice girlfriend, I was putting his laundry away. I hung up the shirts, I hung up the pants, I hung up the uniforms, I folded his socks and underpants and then turned to the dresser to put them away. The first drawer I opened had a tiny pair of size xs girls' panties in it.

I am not a size xs. I will never, ever be a size xs. But his ex-girlfriend (THE ex-girlfriend) was. Of -course- she was. She was tiny and young and pretty and everything that I wish so desperately that I were but aren't. I stopped my investigation of his drawers, made the bed, and left his socks and underwear laying on the bed. And I didn't say anything about it because there's nothing to say. Everyone has momentos of the past. He doesn't speak of her, he doesn't wave her existence in my face to make me feel lesser... There was nothing there to talk about... But it quieted me down and made me a little sad.

Later I was taking a shower and I knocked over one of the girls' toiletries in the bathroom that aren't mine and, being for curly hair, -are- hers... And that was it. Suddenly it was like the whole house is full of these momentos of this girl who holds the place in his heart I wish so very much were mine... All these little trinkets and reminders that, yep, there she is.

It's hard to explain because it's largely irrational but there she is and I can't compete with her. I can't even try. She's tiny and pretty, I'm short and fat. She's pretty and delicate, I'm square and solid. She's got curly hair, I have straight, boring hair. He's in love with her, he's not in love with me. I don't know, suddenly instead of feeling pretty good about my contented little life, I felt terrible. Instead of feeling good about my improvement in running, I felt fat and slow. Instead of feeling amused and loved by our relationship antics, I felt hollow and unloved. This is irrational and I know it, but there it was anyway.

I went running that night because I go running every time I feel down and insecure (this is why I run 5x a week. It doesn't make me feel any better but I keep telling myself eventually it will) and I had the worst run I've ever had. So bad. By the end of it I hurt everywhere, my lungs were screaming, I was sweaty and miserable... and when I walked in the door he'd already gone to bed without waiting for me to come back. I laid down on the floor, put my face into the carpet and cried like a little girl for awhile. It's irrational, it shouldn't bother me. If I were the healthy, strong, independant and capable individual I'm supposed to me this stuff wouldn't bother me.

But I'm not and it did.