Insecurity

Emilie walked into the apartment shortly after midnight, grinning from ear to ear.

"How was your night?" I asked, curious to see if anything had come of Emilie's recent interaction with her new love interest.

"Oh, it was good," she responded as she walked out of the living room. "Is anyone else home?"

"Julie and Audrey, but Audrey's asleep. She just got home about 20 minutes ago. She was so tired that I was afraid keeping her awake any longer would have resulted in a nervous breakdown."

Emilie only heard part of what I said as she stood in the doorway to the back rooms. "20 minutes ago? Then she probably is actually asleep already. Dangit!"

I tried to ask about her night again, but she was no longer within earshot. "Emilie!" I yelled with an exaggerated whine in my voice. "Come talk to me!"

At this point Emilie was discussing something completley different with Julie, and I gave up. I went back to my game of online Canasta, which I was losing at spectacularly. My opponent must have been cheating. About 10 minutes later, after the return of Caitie and her date, a knock on the door signalled Ted's arrival at our apartment. He was in search of a pancake recipe, a very specific one apparently, and asked whether or not we had a Better Homes and Gardens recipe book. I fetched it for him. Emilie came out from behind the curtain separating the living room from the vanity area, and the two of them starting talking about the evening. Their word choice and tones of voice were telling, but the details were vague.

I looked back and forth between them, feeling left out and frustrated. "Emilie! You mean something happened and you didn't tell me? I tried to ask you about it!"

Apparently Caitie was privy to the evening's events, as she instantly attempted to defend the lack of revelation about the evening. "Well, you know, she was still in shock!"

I didn't believe that was true, and was hurt. Why had she sought out Audrey so instantly after arriving home if the shock of the evening's happenings prevented her from talking about them? Why wouldn't she tell me instead? I sat on the couch and pouted (I know, the very mature thing to do), struggling between wanting to become invisible and desiring others' attention in my imagined personal injury. I worked hard on convincing myself that this was just another example of how Emilie loved Audrey better than she did me. "I just knew it!" I silently mewled to myself. "I'm not good enough and Emilie doesn't consider me a close enough friend to talk to about things. I know I'm not perfect like she is, but why does she look down on me so? Why doesn't she love me?" Few things hurt me more than witholding information from me, especially if that information is given freely to someone else. I pride myself on being trustworthy and a good confidant.

Later that night, as (in spite of myself) I cried on Emilie's shoulder about life in general, I realized just how insecure I am. How silly is it to think that I'm in a competition with others for any one person's attention? I don't need to feel hurt because I'm not the first one someone runs to with news, be it exciting or distressing. Why is it that the first thing I assume when faced with a situation like this is that I've somehow failed? That I'm not good enough and that it's a personal attack (whether intentional or not ) on me? I feel at times like Buttercup: "I will never doubt again," I say with every hope that it is true. Yet how quickly I fall and how quickly I doubt! I shouldn't need constant reassurance that I am enough, that I'm not a waste of space and my existence is valid. The amount of love and support I receive from others every day astounds me; how lucky I am to have such friends. As Emilie held me tonight and whispered that she loved me, my fears of inadequacy were temporarily allayed. The recent hurt feelings were forgotten. She loves me? She loves me! Despite my predisposition toward disbelief of any profession of love for me, I knew somehow that what she said was true. And I was grateful for it. "I will never doubt again," I thought to myself. Emilie smiled kindly and silently replied, "There will never be a need."