In my recent wanderings of the hollowed halls of FetLife, I got to thinking. Right now, wherever N is reading this, He’s wincing.
I tend to fall in and out of favor with FL. I never could figure out if it was me getting tired of the incessant bitching and crowing, or if FL had some kind of lunar schedule that invited the crazies and cunts to froth at the keyboard. After seeing another swing disfavoring FL, I believe I might have sorted it out.
I get tired of all the navel-gazing. All the whys, hows, whos, nitpicking the relationship structure over and over. The same people whining that they’re so hard done by, no one understands how freakin’ special their needs in a relationship are because mommy fucked daddy on the kitchen table one time and it ruined their life forever. People on FL are in such a hurry to appear complicated, dark, brooding, it’s like a fuckin race to the bottom, I’m more mentally scarred than you, therefore my needs are more complex and interesting than yours.
I’m fairly simple as far as relationship needs go. Don’t lie too much, don’t fuck around and not help me through it, don’t severely injure my body or brain, and be truthful to myself and yourself. Lead, and I will try to follow as best I can.
I don’t need to explore in nosebleeding depth how, as a young child, watching my mom get the snot beat out of her by my stepfather affects my choices today. I don’t need to extrapolate that I’m superspecialclingyneedy because I have abandonment issues.
I’m average. I like getting roughed up, I like to love N, I like to serve Him, but sometimes I wanna serve me. I don’t do it because I’m dark and mysterious, or a tender damaged flower, I do it because this is basic me and that is basic N.
I don’t need some superhorriblecomplex reason to kneel and serve. I guess I’m superficial and bland, but all this psychotherapy group time on FL makes me want to go take a walk in vanilla world for a while.
I stopped acting cool and deep and dark around the time I graduated high school, ’cause I don’t have the time nor the patience to be uber-angsty and hip. I’m too busy living.