Love begets obsession

I’ve noticed a dangerous association between love and obsession. The Offspring did a song back in their early years (the Smash album I think) called Self Esteem. In the song there’s a line that goes “…the more you suffer, the more it shows you really care…” and this statements seems to have become one of the central tenets of the way that relationships are approached. The correlation between love and obscene devotion is something that disturbs me greatly.

I will be the first to admit that I did nothing admirable or even condonable during my time with Nicole. While I was a decent man, and treated her with the utmost dignity and respect, I victimized myself by allowing her to dictate the pacing and tone of the relationship with no regard for my own hurt feelings. But I’m noticing that there are others that are willingly subjecting themselves to the kind of abhorrent treatment I so recently suffered.

I’m talking about women becoming hopelessly devoted to guys that they felt something for and think they can recapture the feelings, or girls who are willing to look past the misery of that their relationships engendered in the hopes of making things better. The idea that given enough time the issues will resolve themselves or cease to bother you is ludicrous at best. We become who we are through stimuli and our best reactions to it. To think that suffering will change someone’s most intrinsic facets is lunacy.

I once subscribed to the ideal that if I suffered long enough and vocally enough to everyone else but her then somehow things would change and get better. And not just with Nicole but with every woman I’ve ever been involved with. I won’t list all the names, but the point is that any amount of suffering or pining is unneeded. Now I say this full well knowing that I’m still making peace with and putting away some feelings that I harbor for someone, but I won’t begin to expand upon them here. The point is that it’s unneeded suffering.

The point and purpose of any interpersonal relationship or dynamic, I believe, is mutual betterment of the parties involved. If you’re miserable you’re not getting better. The problem, as I see it anyway, is that we’re all emotionally stunted in some way shape or form. I like to call it “emotional constipation”. We find people that we can connect with, even for a second, and we become hopelessly a ludicrously devoted to them in sick and obscene ways. Hell I fell in love with a girl not too long ago after knowing her for maybe two weeks. I’m guilty as charged for that sin.

The trick here is that while the behavior itself might be deplorable or at the very least disappointing, we all do it. Perfectly rational, logical, level headed people that let all of their better traits fly right out the window the minute they get around that special someone. I have a penchant for puzzles and figuring out people so naturally when I’m in a relationship I question everything, I seek absolute understanding, and can’t bear to be kept in the dark about anything. The primary thing that drove Nicole crazy was my ability to figure her out (I now know that women despise this in the worst possible way). Ironically the same proclivity didn’t extend to…whoops almost name dropped there. Let’s just say it didn’t out last the relationship.
The bottom line is that love is confused for obsession a bit too often I think and it’s not due to any true emotional connection but more a feeling that is propagated by proximity. Being near that person elicits a feeling and that feeling is sought out fervently. It’s like a drug that becomes an addiction and the thought of losing that person of getting them out of your head, of making a life without them in it is deplorable. So we cling to it ferociously and refuse to let it go. And almost before we know it, the impetus for the feelings are gone, the relationship has gone stale and we wind up hating who and what we’ve become and worse we shoulder guilt over what we’ve changed the other person into.

Think long and hard about whom you are now and who you think you might be if not for the significant other in your life or the last person you called your own. Consider all of the facets of your being and decide whether the behavior is something borne out of your own natural progression or the result of subtly being made into the ideal of someone else. It’s staggering when you look at it, and no doubt will cause a good number of you to reevaluate the people you thought you were, if you’re doing the analysis right that is.

Addiction comes in many forms...

At what point does attraction cross the line into obsession? Is there a clearly defined line between normal attraction and dangerous addiction? I ask only because these seem to be the paramount questions I’m facing and I’m wondering if anyone else has taken the time to really consider it. I spent so much fighting for something I couldn’t have and at the time I sincerely had diluted myself into believing that the more I suffered the more it meant that I was genuinely in love with her. I know I was a sick man.

But hindsight lends perspective and I see now that more than anything I was chasing ghosts, running after something I never had and never would. But what about when you have it, when you hold it in your hands, when you can actually look into her eyes and see the emotion behind them and there no extenuating circumstances keeping you from each other aside from your own fear and trepidation? If you keep chasing that dream, is it still just as foolish?

I know I’m asking a lot of questions and not really saying much in the way of commentary or hypothesis but I feel it necessary to posit the queries early as a means of letting the answers develop naturally. The mainstay of this piece is kind of a part II to the previous one. At what point do you just give up on something? When does the potential pay off exceed the amount of investment needed?

There is a kind of sick comfort that exists in accepting that you’re miserable and that there’s little to be done to change it. The embodying of a blind acceptance for something so abhorrent that your better nature takes a back seat and you become something else, a self made victim. We all do it, we run away from the things we don’t want to face down, we hide from the feelings we don’t want to acknowledge, and we sit idly by and wait for the difficult situations in life to blow over. There are those of us that rise to the challenge and confront it head on, but the number is growing smaller and smaller.

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, well in case you didn’t notice, I have a problem. I have a proclivity to getting involved with women that are never completely available to me. I won’t go down the entire list, but in naming the most recent forays we’ve got two wonderful examples. As everyone well knows, Nicole was engaged when we met then got married and still we continued seeing each other. The end of the story is of course that she moved and left me holding the fractured pieces of my broken heart. The next vixen that I cast my attention on, told me very plainly as we lay naked holding each other that she was not over her ex. She claimed that she still had feelings for him, but it was nothing to worry about. The klaxons in my head sounded off like an air raid warning. My instincts told me to be wary and with good reason, but I digress.

Back to the admission portion of the piece, I have an addiction to being involved with women I can’t have almost as a built in way for me to be denied happiness and thus continue having the fuel to feed this fire. I avoid happiness like the plague, never really wanting to indulge too far for fear of losing the edge that misery gives me. I grew up in a near constant state of chaos and the result is that, as much as some would like to discredit this claim as just my aspirations to identify with Heath Ledger’s Joker, I am a creature of chaos. The only way I know how to be truly contented is when I’m mired in strife. I am the world’s most perfect example of a wistfully functioning malcontent. I seek out happiness just like everyone else, but I seek it in places and from people that can realistically only engender more discomfort.

While most would take the above admission to either be an emo statement or the ramblings of a very psychologically diluted and thus mentally sick man, I assure you it’s merely my assertion. I recognize the contradiction in the assertion and believe me I see the incredulity, but let’s be honest, no one who has any insight into the dealings discussed above can really say I’m wrong. I’m still chasing ghosts, still pining away hoping for some change, some reality shift that causes the heavens to rupture, the earth to split wide and for the woman of my dreams to come springing forth from the nexus of oblivion and take me into her bed and provide me with an endless supply of love and affection. And then the dream stops, the reality sinks in, and I’m made to face the fact that Nicole isn’t coming back, and the as yet unnamed vixen that so recently stole my heart does not and cannot reciprocate and I am the victim of my own delusions.

This is veering dangerously close to being something I don’t want it to be. Let’s take a breath here and give a moment to collect my thoughts…

Okay that’s better. So my addiction is that I cling to women I can’t have because of this misplaced ideal of love that I ascribe to the truly remarkable specimens and because so many others toss the term around the gravity of my admission is lost on deaf ears. Sucks to be me, but I digress. The truth is that while I may fall hard for a very select few, there are those that seek all the attention they can find and they do anything and everything they can to cultivate that. Random pictures, indecipherable texts, muddled status updates, clandestine dealings, anything to generate interest and grab the attention.

Attention whoring, as we’ll call it, is done by many in a myriad of ways but ultimately it all serves the same goal, getting the attention of the people around you. But what causes it? Is it the same addiction that I mentioned above? There are people in this world so deprived of the attention they think they need that they’re willing to endure hellish and abhorrent behaviors and treatment just to sate their own lack of self esteem. They endeavor for nothing more than recognition in any regard. Whether it’s someone blaming them for ruining their life or someone doting upon them with all the love and adoration in the world they will never be satisfied. Addiction fills a void, it’s satisfies a need, either created or engrained, but it serves a purpose. Attention whoring is an addiction.

What makes our self esteem break down to the point where we have to seek out validation of our existence in someone else? The unhealthy defining of our lives by how others perceive us seems to be a driving force in the way business is conducted. Always seeking to please others is a fault that is personified in a massive number of people. Now don’t get me wrong I know that to some extent we are all playing parts, we’re all naturally conditioned to want to be liked. We’re social creatures! But when it begins to make you lose sight of yourself or reevaluate facets of yourself that were once above analysis, you might be trying too hard to fill that hole.

Nobody enjoys being disliked. That’s a given. Hitler is seen as the embodiment of all evil in the twentieth century but I’m sure as reviled as he still is, were he still alive his ultimate goal is just to be liked. Call it peer pressure, extenuating circumstances, weak wills, people pleasing, or just a plain lack of self identity but it all comes down to the same thing, we have a need to be liked and an addiction to notoriety so we do almost anything to get that. A girl who sleeps with a guy because she wants him to like her, or a girl who refuses to really leave her ex for fear of having no one around, or a guy that does insane things just to get noticed, or a guy that behaves completely inappropriately to garner laughter and recognition are all examples of people doing things that compromise facets of self to earn social acceptance. I show up to parties in a myriad of costumes, not because I have nothing else to wear but because I know it will get me noticed. Recognition is what it’s all about.

The girl who beds down the random guy is earning the attention she wants from him, and getting noticed by the other women who want him as well as her friends for being so bold. So she spreads her legs, moans and whimpers, screams and yells and all to make him like her. She puts on a show to gain acceptance, to gain recognition, and most disturbingly, to get a warped form of respect.

The girl that can’t leave her boyfriend is afraid of being alone and losing the respect she believes she’s garnered. In most cases the boyfriend is either a selfish ass that cares more about himself or his friends than the relationship or he’s an overly sensitive pansy that lacks any kind of conviction or will of his own to function independently. I was the latter guy for about two months during my tenure with Nicole. But ultimately, she stays so that she won’t be alone and so that when or if she breaks his heart she won’t be the one cast in a negative light. It’s the old thing of whomever calls it quits on the relationship the one in the wrong is or the one with the guilty conscience. So she sits, suffers in silence and hopes that he’ll get bored and leave or a massive fight will break out and she’ll have just cause to have left.

The guy that behaves inappropriately is really just an act to get attention. Pissing in the sink, calling girls unkind names, baring his ass, yelling at cops, screaming obscenities, or just making people feel uncomfortable are all methods of getting noticed. And recognition feeds the addiction. Then you have the flip side of things, someone that does perfectly legal things but to such an extreme that you marvel at them. He drinks until his liver is screaming at him to stop, just so he can say he out drank someone else, or does obscene amounts of drugs simply for the bragging rights, or he picks a fight with a random stranger for no reason simply to be the center of attention for however long the fight lasts.

Now these are a bit extreme but the concept stands firm. We all do things that are sheer lunacy and we do them for no other reason than the attention that is generates. There is such a thing as addiction to attention and some people will do anything to get it. Perhaps in the end though, love in its purest form is just a diluted form of addiction.

Happiness in Slavery

Nine Inch Nails did a song by that name, and the video was so obscene that they never showed it. I’m not here to talk about music videos though. Today’s topic of discussion centers on those situations and dynamics where we become enslaved to the machinations of someone else. You know the old story; you meet someone that initially you get along with well enough to spend more time with them and eventually your association reaches a point where you’re mutually detracting from and destroying each other.

To further illustrate the point consider a woman that is beaten near constantly. The kind of woman that is always missing teeth, sporting black eyes, swollen lips and gums, broken bones, swaths of hair missing from her scalp, and of course a myriad of cuts and bruises. She knows she’s miserable. She feels the sting of every strike, and the humiliation from lying about the cause of each injury, but it’s not enough to get away. She stays with the abusive asshole because she “loves him” or she “deserved it”. But what point does your self esteem reach a point where you’re willing to forego true happiness in favor of misery?

That example speaks directly to physical abuse, which is abhorrent, but it’s nothing compared to emotional abuse. Staying with someone that doesn’t understand you, doesn’t take the time to get to know the real you, or is dependent on you to the point of not being able to function. They guilt you into remaining there all to avoid having blood on your hands from that failed relationship. Endless promises of things changing, spending more time together, anything to keep you from leaving. The truth is that people don’t change unless they want to, and certainly not to keep what they already have. Their behavior got them what they have in the first place, so walking away is an empty threat.

But we all do it. Friendships, romantic liaisons, even our parents all find ways to manipulate us into doing things we don’t feel comfortable doing. We are so afraid of being alone, of being unable to form any kind of lasting connection with another human being that we become ferociously protective of the meager connections we do form. Fair weather friends, sycophantic acquaintances and abusive lovers all serve to keep us enslaved in some way or another. We don’t want to be alone, to stand in isolation or admit any kind of failure so we deride the shortcomings in our relationships and press on, secure in the delusion that things will get better.

I have been chastised by every woman I’ve been involved with for the past five years for being too zealous, too passionate, too overwhelming in the way I handle myself. But I don’t take it as a bad thing because the comments are always in the context of how I’m so remarkably different from the other guys they’ve been involved with. But ultimately the question has to be asked, why you would want to be associated with someone that isn’t engaged. Someone who is blind to their surroundings or so unwilling to see what is going on that they don’t even rationalize it away they just ignore it completely.

My best friend told Nicole’s husband about her affair and after they fought about it for one night, everything was fine and he went back to existing in his ignorance. He found contentment in his blindness. That’s just one example though because it happens all the time. We make excuses, turn blind eyes, ignore massive warning signs, rationalize away a cascade of things, and all to prevent the inevitable acknowledgment of just how miserable we really are. As long as we make someone else happy we find some kind of nobility in our misery. While I champion the idea of Cosmic Balance and all that is encompassed in that, why should we willingly subject ourselves to being unhappy, even in the slightest, simply to make someone else happy? Doing that is detracting from our own happiness and subsequently we don’t really live. We exist to serve another and isn’t that really just a form of slavery?

There’s always that compromise of things that you look past in order to find the bliss and elation of being with someone, but at what point does it become too much? Is a heroin addiction worse than a man that is incapable of being able to find confidence in his own merit? What makes a drug shooting junkie worse than a man that will do anything and everything to make the woman he loves happy? It’s a subjective thing, but ultimately my take is that if you’re so blinded by your devotion and apparent need for someone else, you’re addicted, in the same way that the heroin addled junkie screams for his fix. It’s obsession, and take it from someone that knows, it’s dangerous. It crosses the line from love into obsession when your entire life threatens to crumble and implode by that person leaving. I said goodbye to Nicole and guess what, my world changed, it didn’t implode. I know it was love. But there are those that have had the objects of their affection become discontented and thus seek to find the happiness they’re being denied, and in the aftermath of one human being making a decision that is best for them, the guilt, rage, and manipulation that arises serves only to further the selfish goals of the one engendering that unhappiness.

You suffer in silence to keep from writhing in abject agony. Consider this, you meet someone, you get along, things go well and before long you’re entertaining the idea of being more than friends. So the fateful day comes when you take the plunge and things go well. Fast forward a couple years. You’ve lived together, broken up a few times, seen other people, tried to see what else the world has to offer but you keep coming back. The romantic version of the story tells that it’s fate, you’re meant to be together. But the reality is most likely that one of you is able to goad, manipulate, or guilt the other into continuing the charade of compatibility by capitalizing on the good and forcibly ignoring the bad. Do me a favor, the next time you go to the dentist and have a tooth drilled, pulled, or crowned refuse anesthesia. It’s the same thing. You’re willing your mind to ignore and forget the negative in order to acknowledge only the positive.

Relationships are about mutual growth. Friendships, romantic relationships, even family, it’s about growing and getting better because of how the people around you bring out the best in you. But too often lately I’ve heard stories of people being pulled down into an emotional abyss simply because they cling to the delusion of what they once had. If your relationship ran a year or more and you clearly contemplated leaving them at any point that didn’t directly stem from a fight, odds are you’re just biding time. Sitting around idly waiting for life to make the decision for you while you indoctrinate yourself to believe that there is some measure of redemption and due respect or adulation for your ludicrous endurance of that misery.

We are all given a limited time here. For most it’s seventy, eighty, or ninety plus years. For some our time here is much shorted for a modicum of reasons. But to spend even five minutes being wretchedly unhappy is five minutes of your life wasted. It’s an intrinsic facet of human nature that we avoid pain and pursue pleasure, but for most of us we let the despicable situation that develops continue to propagate while we continue suckling away at the opiate we receive and the whole time we’re completely unaware of how much of ourselves we lost on a daily basis in the situation and worse, how much of life is passing us by while we toil away praying for an organic change to something that is too irrevocably damaged. In the end, perhaps it’s not just happiness in slavery, but self imposed slavery to prevent happiness.

The Calm Before the Storm

So big things are brewing down here at the Asylum and progress is being made. Eagle eyed observers will see the hints of the coming changes, but I’ll save the big announcement for later. A weekend full of reflection, more catharsis, and time and conversations with good friends, has brought me back to some kind of balance. An ironic place to be given my penchant for extremes, but I digress.

So no more emo bullshit for a while, I promise. I’m scorned but I’m healing. Most of the vitriol that found its way here was me bleeding out and refusing to acknowledge that for the first time in over three years I’m without a woman in my life in some dynamic other than friendship. The woman I spent so long pining away for has moved away, leaving me to deal and cope with what has followed and I did my best to deny any reaction to it. My most recent foray into moving on ended disastrously for, ironically, the same reason I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to have anything good. I made a choice, swallowed my pride, and admitted that I was embarking on something great, but sadly I was in it alone. Fear and trepidation gave way to indecisiveness and now that need to belong has amalgamated itself into desperation and a blinding belief in something putrid and sullied.

Once again, I digress. I swear I’m not as jaded as I sound. This is more an update of where things are at right now instead of a deep reflection or diatribe about something specific. Like I said, new things in the works here at the Asylum and we’ll have more on it as things develop. I’m getting back to me, and my creative energies are flooding back to me in ways that I haven’t experienced in years. Good news for those of you hell bent on reading my next work, overwhelming for me. So stay tuned for another post a little later, I’ve got three almost publishable pieces are that just waiting on some kind of conclusion and then they’re up, so be prepared for a massive flood of works. You have been warned.

Oh and before I forget, welcome back Immortal Aurora. You were missed. She actually struggled through the back log to get caught up and she actually left comments. So kudos to her for the valiant effort! Also once again I ask that if you read, please comment; if you’re not going to contribute to the conversation, don’t bother coming here. I know it sounds harsh but if I wanted a one-sided dynamic I’d stick to my journals. You come here for my thoughts, I come here for yours.

Realizations

The universe, I’ve found, is a fickle thing that bends and tests most of us in ways beyond our immediate comprehension. In the endless pursuit for the continuance of Cosmic Balance we are blessed and cursed countless times. It’s ironic when you get perspective from the absolute most unexpected place. I’m much less jaded and honestly more relaxed about things in general. It’s amazing what some closure, a good night’s sleep, and some reflection on past habits that desperately need to be broken can do.

I spent the evening reflecting on how trite and, in truth, borderline emo everything here has been getting and that’s not what I want. Of course I will always write from a perspective that speaks to whatever it is I’m going through or experiencing at that point in time, but I’d like something other than my useless commentary on my myriad of failed relationships to stand the test of time. I sat last night and read over the countless volumes of text I’ve authored in the last four years. HOLY FUCKING MOSES! I write way too much. Three and a half gigabytes of pure text, endless pages all speaking to a maelstrom of topics. The sad thing is that I found a pattern. I read over some of the pieces I’d authored about past relationships and found something both disturbing yet comforting.

Hidden behind all the insipid babbling was a measure of eloquence but it was mired in teenage angst, weak prose, and useless complaining. I realized that I have a dangerous pattern of falling immediately and ridiculously hard for women that show an initial interest in me. My passion bursts through like water against a failed flood game and I end up letting the more overwhelming aspects of my personality run free and rampant. Not a good way to build any kind of relationship or dynamic. But as I sat there reading this god awful work and trying fervently to convince myself that I didn’t actually author it, it struck me that I allow feelings of attachment to override the base emotional standing of neutrality that I normally exercise and it skews my insight. Think House on methadone instead of Vicodin. If I’m moderately miserable then I’m incredibly analytical, observant, and contemplative. I can figure out anything and everything in seconds. Introduce anything that elicits a warm fuzzy feeling and my penchant for analysis falls like a house of cards.

It’s a little disheartening to make the realization that I can’t do the things that set me apart if I’m serenely happy but I guess I’m more like House than most people or even I would like to admit. Introduce a cure to the misery I live through daily and you stymie my rational mind. My kryptonite! So let it be known, no more women, ever! No happiness for me! I will simply tolerate being mildly discontented with life in order to keep my keen mind.

Sorry I know that sounded incredibly emo, but the truth is that I can’t risk giving up or letting go of the only thing that makes me special and separates me from the myriad of other faceless people. I have an innate acumen toward intuitive and deductive reasoning and I’ve been squandering it chasing women that don’t appreciate me and honestly don’t deserve me. I make excuses about why they do or how they’re not too bad and still end up alone in the end. If my rational mind were as keen as it is when women aren’t involved I’d never end up in that situation. I think that as much as sex with myself for the rest of my years might suck, it’s the cost of maintaining my intellectual capacity.

More to follow later, on a topic not personally related to me.

Musings...

Much has been made about the alleged brilliance of my writing and the way it intimidates or at least comes across as a daunting task to comment. I fear you people build me up into something more than I am. I write, a lot, and often. Hundreds of documents a month, dozens of pieces a week and most of it never sees any exposure beyond the initial authoring. It’s an expected facet of investing this much time in something that you invariably end up getting somewhat good at it. But the point I’m trying to make is that I’m not the best, I’m not the supreme writer of the age, I’m simply above average and in that there is still a measure of banality.

I’m not saying this to elicit responses of praise or contradiction. I’m comfortable with my skill as a auteur and I don’t need validation in that, what I do want is comments that tell me I’m reaching and audience. Something to let me know that I have readers, that there are souls out there willing to read and endure my usually far too personal drivel and take something away from it. It’s not a competition and no one is judging or keeping score. I ran into this when I had the “Old Domain” where I would have readers that would never comment, never respond, but they would stealthily troll around and read but never say anything and then feel hurt or betrayed if I called them out on something.

Now all that having been said, please just comment on any facet of anything, even something as mundane as a smiley face or a one word response to the effect of “Nice read too many big words!” I would take. It means I’m reaching you. I do this as much for me as for you. If I stop getting feedback then it becomes just another journal and I don’t need another one. Between the pieces that never get published, my Deviant Art Journal and of course the leather bound diary I carry with me, I’ve got more than enough venues for personal matters to be discussed. When I sit down to author something for this particular forum I write it to you guys, not myself, not as a means of achieving catharsis but as a way to connect with you. But it works both ways guys. I stop getting, I stop giving. I do owe thanks, however, to Nikki (not to be confused with Nicole, I got one email asking if they were the same person. Not even close. Nikki is awesome, Nicole is from a circle of hell so deep and depraved that even Lucifer doesn’t dare go in), Justina, and Christine for subscribing, and commenting. Also shout outs are due to Immortal Aurora who has been absent due primarily to computer issues. Sorry but playing catch up will be hell.

Now that we have all of the pleasantries out of the way, let’s get down to something we can all relate and identify with instead of just my pointless whining. Today’s topic is the absurd way that we as a culture and a society have complicated interpersonal romantic relationships and the perversion that we’ve turned marriage into. If we strip away all of the new age bullshit about marriage being the ultimate commitment between two people who love each other with all their hearts what are we really left with? The answer is not one you’re going to like. The institution of marriage came about because it was a way for men to assert sexual ownership rights over women and claim them as property. It wasn’t a deep heartfelt symbol of undying love; it was a way for women to be controlled under the pretense that if they slept with anyone else or were in any way unfaithful an invisible man in the sky would strike them down. Men would take ownership of a woman by marrying her and she would be made to raise his children, service his needs (both domestic and sexual) and care for him home while he was off spreading his seed free of consequence.

Marriage has since evolved into something a bit more palatable to our social norms by being seen as the logical progression of a relationship between two people that have enough common not to kill each other after prolonged periods of time in the same room. The main reason for this progression The sad thing is that the concept of an undying, all consuming, completely fulfilling love that satisfies and contents is something seen more in fairy tales and cheesy romance novels. It does exist; don’t get me wrong, I’m the best example of a die hard romantic I’ve ever found. I tolerate and endure more than anyone else I know to try to make relationships work. I’ll allow myself to be victimized, ignored, cheated on (to an extent, see one of the other posts), introduced as a “friend” when she’s too confused or concerned to identify me as anything else, hell I don’t even take issue with the idea of the ex being a part of her life. I told Nicole on numerous occasions that if we ended up together I wouldn’t mind her continuing her association with Matthew, with a good measure of stipulations tacked onto that of course. But the point I’m getting at here is that for better or for worse when I fall in love with someone, it’s a complete and all encompassing thing. I don’t cheat, I don’t stray, and I will go to any length I have to in order to make her happy. The problem I’m finding though is that as much as women claim they want a guy who’s going to do this kind of thing for them, when they get around me they become incredibly afraid and intimidated by it.

So here lies the quandary. What is it exactly men are supposed to do when nothing they do is right? I mean I give, I sacrifice and I get shit on for all of my effort. But guys like my best friend have carnival prizes for the women he sleeps with that he awards based on their performance in bed and he’s one woman shy of hitting number one hundred. Now I know the argument by most of you is going to be that those women are dumb, and let me stop you and just clarify here. Those women who have slept with him, yeah, they’re not dumb, they’re completely fucking retarded. Most of them don’t even qualify as high functioning retards either. They’re seven shades of fucking stupid and should really have their lives reevaluated and begin to implement some kind of change. Nothing against him, but let’s face it, he’s a whore. Back to the point, why is it that a guy who tries to do everything right, who listens, takes notes, never forgets a birthday (I still call the first girl I ever dated on her birthday every year), suffers through Christmas and the awkward exchange of gifts, even makes a concerted effort to appear presentable and publicly acceptable when meeting parents or family, get nothing in return for his efforts?

Relationships have evolved into these incredibly complicated things where you need a score card and commentary by John Madden and Pat Summerall just to keep up. There’s all these arbitrary terms, friends with benefits, sex with no strings attached, one night stand, fuck buddy, casual dating, just dating, kind of together, talking, seeing each other, together, not together, exclusive, open relationship and really it’s all bullshit. You need an example?

Friends with benefits: this is every good friendship, otherwise why be friends? I benefit from hanging out with you if for no other reason than I’m not bored.

Sex with no strings attached: Awesome I love sex when I don’t have strings grafted into my skin. It makes moving much easier and I feel a lot less like a marionette.

One night stand: Do I really need to go into how fucking stupid this one is? Odds are unless you’ve got her back pressed against the wall, all the fucking you’re doing for that one night is on a bed and you’re both lying down. No one is standing unless the jackass with the cock is standing in the door way with his dick in his hand hoping you brought a friend.

Fuck buddy: if you don’t know the person well enough to even call them a buddy before you take them into your bed, odds are you should be hoping for a one night stand.

Casual dating: am I to understand that there is another kind of dating; perhaps some kind of sudden death dating or high tension dating? If he says the wrong thing he gets shot in the face. If she forgets when her period starts she’s flayed alive.

Just dating: you buy dinner, take her home, and then you go home to rub one out because you’re just dating so sex is out of the question. After all you’re not friends with benefits and you’re certainly not fuck buddies. You’re just dating!

Kind of together: well you’ve been seen in the same place, at the same time, talking to each other. You were even caught kissing on a couple of occasions. But you’re only kind of together. Wouldn’t want to send the wrong idea after all, make someone think that there might be more going on.

Talking: this is really fucking stupid. I talk to hundreds of people a week. Doesn’t mean I’m trying to fuck any of them!

Seeing each other: I open my eyes, look across the room, and happen to make eye contact. The light is interpreted by my brain as visual signals and I see you. The same process occurs in your brain, unless you’re blind at which point stop staring at me! We’ve seen each other, now let’s become friends with benefits!

Together: well thank god you’re together! I’d hate to think you’re in need of assembly. I’ll try to find the instructions from Ikea and we’ll get you done up right. Let me get the special tool that came in the box.

Not together: well I couldn’t find the tool, and the instructions are in some bastard version of Swedish so I guess you’re not together. Sorry.

Exclusive: I don’t recall ever being asked to sign a contract with a girl. But maybe I should start. If she goes to work any one else’s knob or does work for an agent other than myself she’s broken my exclusive contract. I’ll sue god-dammit!

Open relationship: the door is always open for you to leave. Don’t like doing things my way, get the fuck out of here!

These terms are completely useless and stupid. They don’t mean a fucking thing. We assign them special little meanings and talk in this bullshit language because really when you strip away all of the infidelity, the cons, the games, the flirting, and the exorbitant amount of effort that some guy through just for a single piece of ass, how exciting is sex really? It’s hard enough getting each other’s clothes off what with women wearing pants that are painted on these days, and then half the time the guy can’t even figure out what he’s doing and looks like he’s having a seizure in a Mel Brooks movie. But if done right, sex is this messy, hot, sweaty, lurid, loud, debauched act engaged in by two people for what is believed will be mutual physical satisfaction. But we dress it up and add all manner of pretentiousness to it and it becomes something that doesn’t get done without the right amount of alcohol, or the right encouragement from friends, or the right amount of trust. And really if you’re bedding down with that person anyway, as convoluted as dating has become in today’s world, you should care about them enough and have at least a little bit of genuine romantic attachment to really open up, relax, and just enjoy the ministrations of your partner.

Your blind self-righteous sense of indignation is parked on my foot...

“It can only end badly you let someone get too close.” “Systematic detachment from emotional reaction…” “Humanity is only ever capable of engendering pain upon one another.” “Happiness is fleeting.” All of these quotes make up the mainstay of what I like to call my fatalist persona. The side of me shrouded in shadow and dedicated to keeping the true beast of negativity contained. I once clung to these bits and pieces of rhetoric as though they were gospel teachings handed to me directly by a deity. Eventually, as most everyone now knows the story, I began to reevaluate and in truth ended up invalidating all of it because of a singular woman that restored my faith in humanity and compelled me to begin not only trusting but truly investing in other people.

I know that for most, the feelings and notions toward Nicole are distant and cold at best, at worst there are those that would seek to have her husband find out everything that’s gone on (I still wrestle with that compulsion, more out of guilt than anything else) and would seek to destroy her completely. In spite of the hell that I endured because of her and all of the sacrifice that I made toward furthering a goal that only one of us wanted, there did come some good from it. The caveat being that in spite of the entire good, she still left me broken hearted a bit jaded.

That said it’s now story time. Once upon a time there was a jaded boy that disliked most everyone and everything and did a myriad of outlandish things simply for shock value. One night the boy gets a wild hair up his ass and heads to a bar in January wearing a Halloween costume. And so our story begins, the boy met an engaged woman that night and the two began what was initially supposed to be a purely physical relationship. Boy tries to maintain emotional distance and keep the dynamic purely physical despite finding himself developing real feelings. Engaged woman drops the bombs that she has feelings and the tone of the relationship changes. Boy hastily contacts friends and makes plans to elope with engaged woman to Vegas. Engaged woman declines, citing her impending wedding date and boy’s lack of stability as reason enough to avoid making a hasty commitment. Boy becomes hopelessly committed to woman and slowly becomes a man. The affair continues on and off for the next year and a half until eventually woman moves to San Diego with husband and man is left alone. Now here’s where the plot really begins to thicken. Our hero is left to either wallow and mire in the hurt and the misery that would inevitably follow or seek out a means of preventing self destruction.

What most don’t know is that our hero chose a middle ground. He bravely chose to refuse to even acknowledge the void and simply seek to fill it all while ignoring it. A simple idea that gets complicated at even the slightest hint of analysis but for our hero not such a tall order. Invariably, as most times happens though, plans went astray. Suitable filler couldn’t be found for the void and the cracks began to show. But as most often times happens, fortune smiled down and a genuine emotion began to really develop for another love interest of our hero. Life seemed good and when everything stayed together instead of exploding or the very fabric of reality itself unraveling, it all looked to be on the verge of actually working out. However, our hero’s new interest left, lost to the ether and barely continuing to make contact or show signs of life. And so the gate keeper bristled. The tiny voice inside our hero’s head that whispered haunting reminders of the pain and the misery engendered by those most intrinsically trusted began to yell his thoughts and influence our hero’s perceptions of the world. When all seemed lost, our hero found presence of mind and resisted slipping back into the gap of misfortune and self loathing. But that’s not where the story ends. Confusion and intrigue abounded with notions and examples of clandestine dealings, false promises and the like, and worst but what seemed like lies. Finally our hero could take no more, so he punched Chuck Norris in the face and found eternal bliss.

Wasn’t that a great story? I have one about Giant Pigs but I don’t think the time is right. I forgot the point I was making, something about people not being worth the effort needed to befriend them, oh fuck it. I’ve got only a handful of readers anyway, I need sleep. Time for a nap at work, or another early night…

Fair Weather for a Friend...

Disillusionment is not something that is easily dealt with for anyone but for me it’s perhaps one of the most volatile things I can encounter. There comes a point for most everyone where they begin to feel disheartened with things, but for me and my penchant toward extremes it becomes a deep and vitriolic questioning of things that should just be accepted as intrinsic fact. The decision for any measure of appropriate action is something that should never truly be taken lightly but in my case, overt analysis usually lends itself to my becoming increasingly convinced of an outcome that no one can fathom let alone accept. Ironically though, I’m usually the one guy who saw the outcome but too concerned with other things by the time it happens to truly care.

Blame my Rubik’s complex, or my simply overactive mind, but for whatever reason I, like House, care more about puzzles and solutions than I do people. Despite that proclivity though there are times when the human element perplexes more than the puzzle at hand and I find myself trying in earnest to figure out the solution to something that can truthfully never be predicted.

To be fair, I have an innate ability (as most of you know, some might actually claim it’s inane though) to read people and anticipate their actions and reactions to most any stimulus. There are those rare occasions though, where I simply cannot get a bead on someone and the complexity of reasons as to why coupled with my disdain at failure usually produces one of two responses. The first and most common knee jerk reaction is for me to simply rationalize that the conundrum isn’t worth the gratification of solution and simply relegate the entire ordeal to the same place that incorrectly quoted song lyrics go, namely as something wholly trivial and inconsequential. Then there is the other reaction…

The voracious and rapacious need to figure out not only why I’m unable to discern the motivations and agenda of my query results in an all consuming obsession to ascertain an answer. The compulsion is sporadic and if not altogether infrequent. Far too often lately I’ve found it hard to devote the necessary mental resources toward achieving that end. However it is worth noting that my own mental acumen has been notably disparate from my usually advertent assuetude. My own explanation is somewhat hokey but it involves a need to recharge and reset after being mired in my own personal hell for so long. The truth of that rationalization however is flimsy at best.

It seems I have reached an impasse recently where I’m compelled to reevaluate a great number of things that been called into question. I’m seeking a reason to continue fighting for things that I so fervently want when I seem to be the only committed to achieving the goal. It is my understanding that relationships, in any dynamic are about give and take, with both parties giving or investing themselves toward the mutual betterment of themselves and the other. However, it is becoming increasingly obvious that I am, much to my sadness and chagrin, consigned to a near endless association with fair whether acquaintances. Half hearted, lack luster, pedantic, meager, and summarily short sighted efforts to simply appease and satisfy the implied obligation of association is the best I seem to be able to garner. Now this is not to say that every person in my circle of influence behaves this way, just that a majority of people in my life do. When they require something, or when their schedule is void of alternative activity then suddenly I’m the guy to hang out with.

The sad thing is that I allow it. Somewhere along the way I ceased being so hot headed and ought tempered and developed an almost disastrous acceptance of this kind of shoddy behavior and very rarely, if ever, voice my displeasure to those that perpetrate the action. Instead I suffer through it for what I believe is just penance for being a good friend only to be constantly disappointed by the inadequacies of those around me. Now I know that sounds incredibly one sided and selfish, but hey a phone call to just hi isn’t too far out of line is it? Shit I’d settle for a text message that’s a forward about how if you don’t send it to 7 people in 33 seconds you’re ass will explode and your nipples will spontaneously combust. Any measure of non-solicited contact is welcomed. Oh well maybe I’m just asking for a measure of human decency that can’t simply be delivered in today’s society.

Land of hypocrisy!

It’s 9/11, the eight year anniversary of the most devastating terrorist attack on our soil in recent memory. Guess what though, I don’t give a shit. Yes it was tragic, many people lost their lives and that is sad, truly lamentable. For them I show reverence. For a government that refuses to expend all resources to find the truth behind it, I have no sympathy. We can find a crotch shot of Lindsey Lohan but we can’t find a six foot Arab on dialysis. Sad when the most underhanded and depraved government in the world can’t actually track down its enemies. Oh wait, we’re not actually trying to, sorry I get so caught up the propaganda that I sometimes actually think we’re really doing what the media says we’re doing.

We fight a war so we’re blind to the truth of how badly we’re being fucked. The government now owns the auto industry, our children will be indebted to other states for years to come since they bought our extreme debt, and our tax dollars are still going to feed and house the corrupt men and women that put us in this situation in the first place. Bernie Madoff will spend the rest of his life sitting in a cell being fed, clothed, and housed by our tax dollars instead of being put to death. Where’s the justice?

The claim here is not that “American Government” is the worst government in the world, it’s that we try to assert our influence on other states in the world on the pretense that we have the BEST government in the world when really, we can’t even govern ourselves. We’re ahead of many other regimes but not the best. Sure we enjoy many liberties, the fact that I can voice my dissent and disagreement is testament to a liberty I have that many others don’t, but my “patriotism” breaks down when the society I live in responds to concerns of perceived pretentiousness with responses like “You don’t like it, get the hell out!”

This state was founded by white, male, landholding, slave owners that didn’t like being taxed so they revolted. They put forth an ideal for universal equality and we can’t even make that happen after 200 years. We fight wars abroad to bring the idealism of democracy to other less privileged states but for what point and purpose, to make our own state that much more dominant in the world. We’re exercising a world domination agenda the same as any other state but we indoctrinate our own people to believe that we’re on an errand of mercy. It’s the same as Christianity, Mormonism, Catholicism, and even Islam. We preach an ideal and we accept that ideal as perceived fact without crucial analysis.

All the major religions have some loop hole that if looked at breaks down the entire dogma, aside from Buddhism because their rhetoric is that nothing matters and it’s all bullshit anyway (I’m paraphrasing). The ideal of our government being the best example of a functional one is no different. You analyze the liberties we give up for safety and it begins to break down. The trade off is that it’s for the greater good and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Airport tightened down like a dolphin’s ass immediately after 9/11 and the majority of the populace went along with it because it was to save lives, but there were examples denoted as isolated incidents where it was taken too far. Women forced to drink their own breast milk, geriatrics being forced to submit to cavity searches, entire flights being held up over a vibrator that got switched on by accident. The list goes on.

Now I know the argument is still, “Go somewhere else if you don’t like it here.” My response to that is to disprove what I’m saying. The government is flawed, there is no perfect system, I know all of that and I make no claims that I’ve devised a perfect system. But where is the accountability to our governing body for their actions? We have court systems log jammed with cases over things that happened years ago, a media that seizes on sensationalist stories rather than devoting time to actual news. Where was the mass media coverage when North Korea called off the armistice agreement and blatantly swore military action if the US searched their ships? That day all I heard about was Jon and Kate. Our society thrives on stories about Paris Hilton partaking in a 9 hooker gang bang or an American Idol contestant coming out as being gay. This isn’t real news! There was a time when things like this would be a page six footnote at best. However we have allowed the media to turn these things into headlines while the real news is relegated to ad space on page G-34 behind the comics.

Our government is better than the radical regimes so often mentioned that behead women or remove tongues, but we’ve allied with far worse regimes. We sided with Stalin during WWII and he killed almost 700,000 people during his great purge, and a good number of those were refugee Americans that had immigrated during the worst of the Great Depression. We jumped blindly into bed with the man and still hold Roosevelt as a hero for his actions during WWII. The only difference between Stalin and Hitler was that Stalin didn’t target one group of people (he killed about 110,000 Poles, which is a huge number but not a majority). Need more proof? What about Mao Zedong? He convinced an entire state that he could read their minds and issued doctrines that resulted in hundreds of thousands of lives being lost, many by suicide. Wives turned on husbands, children turned on parents, workers turned on their bosses, yet under Nixon we turned China into a massive trade partner. Hell for that matter let’s not even leave the country, what about McCarthyism? In the 1950’s if you said anything subversive about the government you were a communist and subject to blacklisting. Couldn’t own a house, couldn’t get a job, converted into a social leper almost overnight. Where’s the consistency?

We vilify the Islamic people because they have nothing we want aside from oil and they’re too mired in their own infighting to keep it from us. We bring out special brand of democracy to these war torn places and seek to settle disputes and breed peace when we can’t even do that on our own soil. We have a broken health care system, a automotive industry owned by the government, incredibly high taxes, and an educational system that focuses more on memorization and test preparation than understanding and independent thought. But we tolerate all of it because of the draconian image presented of what life is like elsewhere. Beheadings in the Middle East, starvation and rampant disease in Africa, overt poverty in Eastern Europe, savage treatment and violation of human rights everywhere else in the world but not here. We allow wire taps because it catches those subversives that would seek to destroy our way of life. But how great do we really have it? We’re the sickest state on the planet even though we spend the most on health care, and we’ve got an educational system where 98% percent of the populace over 15 can read but can’t do math as well as other states. We had a 77% graduation rate in 2008 which was actually below many other developed countries.

I know I could keep throwing out numbers and I know I’m bound to be sniped by those that disagree, but the pretentiousness of our government is sick. The Romans believed that they were the best in the world and look what happened to them. I don’t disagree that we’re better than most other states of the world, but let’s be honest, we’re not the best. It’s an ideal we seek to achieve but we should be humble enough to acknowledge our own shortcomings and focus on them before we try to fix the rest of the world. I say throw out the Truman doctrine and return to the way things were before Woodrow Wilson came into office. We’re staring down the same barrel the Brits did after WWII, so many satellites and global interests that we’re spread too thin. It’s a proven historic fact that any time a civilization reaches a certain level of decadence they’re doomed to fall, how long before our fall?

Counterweight

I’m back! Welcome to the asylum kiddies. This should have been the proper first post but I was a bit mired in my own self loathing and a bit of much needed, but slow, catharsis. Well I’ve reached the apex of my Ænema and I’m proud to say that I’m back in rare form. I’m once again a keyboard cowboy, and I’m just itching to find some further measure of release. Catharsis, I’ve found, is best done in an incremental process and with the right frame of mind.

Right now I’m struck by just how insipid it appears that humanity is capable of being. Lost in their own little agendas, oblivious to the world that seeks to suck them down; I can’t help but laugh. So now we stand on the precipice of something great, something that has been a long time coming, the true measure of what might be and what should not be. A decision tantamount to complete isolation brought on by abuse or openness to continue attempting to enjoy some measure of life and all its offerings. The choice is simple yet the gravity of it is almost unbearable. Deny the more decent inclinations I’ve cultivated in the recent years and return to the mired torpor of chaos I once called home, freely floating among the demons in my mind, or continue to leave myself open to the endless barrage of those seeking to better themselves through the suffering of others.

All of this I’m sure is a bit heavy for most of you, having no doubt gotten used to the softer bubbly side of things that I’ve been posting, but long time readers will recognize the pattern. Logic dictates that we should fear and avoid that which causes pain, while emotion is devoid of logic and seeks to continue with the engendering of that agony. Bring together the best and worst of humanity and you have a singular being, with infinite ability to cause or abate the endless suffering of others. I once believed myself to be this world’s destroyer, the herald of the coming end, but I see now the folly of it all. I was not intended to blindly condemn the whole of existence, but to experience the set back and tribulation of so many others and become steadily less accepting of that pain. To live in a world that freely engenders this pain without due course, process or warrant is sick, and I am the cure to that sickness.

Ah sorry got a little self-righteous there, my deepest apologies. What I mean to say is that I’ve found a pattern of sorts to the dealings and decisions of people. Open yourself up; become vulnerable to anything even for a second and inevitably you wind up with a pain that you can’t shake. It’s not because of any true maliciousness it’s simple that man kind is made up of selfish ignorant beings and we can’t help but be selfish and inconsiderate of others. People say I complicate shit, I think it’s just human nature that shit gets complicated.

My Machinations

As so often seems to happen it would appear that i have once again become my own foil. I am my own worst enemy, and pride has finally reached an apex of impediment. I'm almost completely incapable of movine beyond my own intended machinations and getting out of my own way. I still cling to something I can't have an brood over the perceived wrong doing. The ultimate wrong doing to all of this is that it's sapping all of my creative juices. Hopefully next week is better...

Eternal Complication

Try all I want, the sad fact seems to be that inevitably, life will always find some way to complicate itself. As anyone who knows me can attest I have an innate ability to look at a situation and no matter how simple it might be, find the worst case scenario and the most convoluted means of it turning out, and somehow things end up turning out that way. It's infuriating to those that wish I were wrong, but to others....well it's a breath of frsh air because I'm a reality junkie.

Fuck this, it's 2AM I quit. I'm going to bed. Maybe it will be less complicated by the time I wake up...shyeah and monkies might fly out of my butt!

Enlightening, no?

A young man who had a bitter disappointment in life went to a remote monastery and said to the abbot: "I am disillusioned with life and wish to attain enlightenment to be freed from these sufferings. But I have no capacity for sticking long at anything. I could never do long years of meditation and study and austerity; I should relapse and be drawn back to the world again, painful though I know it to be. Is there any short way for people like me?" "There is," said the abbot, "if you are really determined. Tell me, what have you studied, what have you concentrated on most in your life?" "Why, nothing really. We were rich, and I did not have to work. I suppose the thing I was really interested in was chess. I spent most of my time at that."The abbot thought for a moment, and then said to his attendant: "Call such-and-such monk, and tell him to bring a chessboard and men." The monk came with the board and the abbot set up the men. He sent for a sword and showed it to the two. "O monk, you have vowed obedience to me as your abbot, and now I require it of you. You will play a game of chess with this youth, and if you lose I shall cut off your head with this sword. But I promise that you will be reborn in paradise. If you win, I shall cut off the head of this man; chess is the only thing he has ever tried hard at, and if he loses he deserves to lose his head also." They looked at the abbot's face and saw that he meant it: he would cut off the head of the loser. They began to play. With the opening moves the youth felt the sweat trickling down to his heels as he played for his life. The chessboard became the whole world; he was entirely concentrated on it. At first he had somewhat the worst of it, but then he seized his chance to launch a strong attack. As his opponent's position crumbled, he looked covertly at him. He saw a face of intelligence and sincerity, worn with years of austerity and effort. He thought of his own worthless life, and a wave of compassion came over him. He deliberately made a blunder and then another blunder, ruining his position and leaving himself defenseless. The abbot suddenly leaned forward and upset the board. The two contestants sat stupefied. "There is no winner and no loser," said the abbot slowly, "there is no head to fall here. Only two things are required," and turned to the young man, "complete concentration, and compassion. You have today learned them both. You were completely concentrated on the game, but then in that concentration you could feel compassion and sacrifice your life for it."+ Only when you have no thing in your mind and no mind in things are you vacant and spiritual, empty and marvelous+

Diary of a madman

Sadly, I've been letting this new bastion of cathartic intention fall to the wayside like so many others from years gone by. It's not been an intentional thing, it's just that my creative juices have been somewhat stymied lately. I'm still sitting somewhat stagnant, trying in earnest to fill old holes, and mend wounds that still bleed freely. In all honesty I'm avoiding the major cathartic purge that I'm truly in need of and I'm doing it because part of me doesn't want to forget or let go of the emotions driving that emotional buildup. There is such a thing as too much honesty.

So here I am, exposed (somewhat) to the slings and arrows of a populace that doesn't exist. Laid bare before the denizens of a following that exists only in my own mind. I'm finding solace in unlikely places and but ultimately I'm running. I'm running from myself truthfully, unwilling and too afraid to really face those fears. Yes, I, the man who bares all to win a bet, the man who comes willingly to social gatherings in nothing more than a towel, I have fear. A deeply rooted fear regarding what may still be, and what can never be. I fear the darker side of my own nature, the side of me that's been stuffed down and pushed so far down that even now I can feel it gnashing its fangs and howling with feral intensity to get free. The side that those who've seen it, cringe at.

Fears can cripple or they can empower depending on how we look at them and how much power we give them. For me, I've always sought vehemently to strip my fears of any power, to render them impotent by sheer force of will. But I can feel the emotional burden building with each and every day that passes, every sunrise adding to the uneasiness of what is still to come. Try as I might, it is ultimately I who am powerless in this scenario. I pray for salvation, for release, and for the resolve and the willpower to continue to hold that beast at bay. Only time will tell how powerful I truly am, and whether that strength is enough to subdue and contain the feral side of my id.

The greatest fear of mine is perhaps that of love. The idea that anyone can feel as intensely or passionately for me as I do for them is something I seek but I'm unsure if it's truly something I could handle. My passion is boundless, driving me, pushing me into a mindset of visceral expression. For most it's not just daunting but is outright intimidating. Yet I persevere, haunted by a past that should never have been. Run for all you're worth, you can't escape your own shadow.

Sadly I think this entire piece, while coded in my trademark vagueness of being able to say a lot without actually saying anything at all, is a round about way for me to simply express that I'm emotionally conflicted and longing.