Funky Town

I spent all of yesterday in a funk. The morning consisted of storming around the house, while the afternoon found me bawling in bed. My overactive imagination doesn’t limit itself to diseases, I also have an obsession with whores. Yes, whores. The ones that are always just a click, or a channel, away.

In times of clarity, I feel sorry for women who objectify themselves. I know they’re not emotionally healthy. And I know that deep down they just want acceptance and attention; that they’re willing to do anything to get it. I don’t envy them, at all.

But at other times, like yesterday, I get it into my mind that Rey likes these girls. That he sneaks off to pornographic websites when I’m not looking. I see him so vividly in my mind, sitting intently at the computer, enjoying the prostitution of women; wishing that his girlfriend looked and acted like the girls on his screen. (These thoughts are usually followed by images of me kicking Rey in the balls while force-feeding him Jello Jigglers laced with anti-freeze).

I know my jealousy is deeper than not wanting Rey to “like another girl”. I think there are several layers to the insanity. The first being whores’ role in society, and society’s subsequent approval of their behavior. Whoreness is encouraged in today’s world; parents take their eighteen-year-olds to get boob jobs, seven-year-olds run around with “JUICY” plastered across their asses and TV programming is infused with sexuality. Now, I don’t think women should be forced into burkas, but I also don’t think that a woman’s value should be based on her body or outward appearance. I’m as guilty as the next girl, I’ve certainly worn a skirt that was much too short; but the way society promotes such behavior, leads one to feel they have to keep up with the Joneses. A lot of the time I feel inferior, because I don’t.

I think the second component of the jealousy issue, is my fear of abandonment rearing its head. I used to think a lot—and cry a lot—about not knowing my Dad. I’ve spent countless hours agonizing over why he didn’t care and why I wasn’t worthy of his love. But as I’ve gotten older, and even more so recently, I’ve been able to push those thoughts to the back of my mind and sort of accept it for what it is. But just because I don’t stew over the abandonment like I used to, doesn’t mean it’s not part of who I am. It definitely influences my mental health, or lack thereof. I know it fuels my distrust in men.

The third, and most obvious, element of the jealousy is my low self-esteem. There’s a part of me that just knows these whores are better than me, prettier than me, funner to be around than me. That Rey would be lucky to have such a girl. It always goes back to me not liking me.