In 1988 and 1989, when I finished up my undergrad career and applied to grad schools for art, I faced a really shitty reality. Three women, Sara, the one I now call Linda, and "Myrna" all had it in their heads that they wanted to achieve a vicious takedown of me. Sara didn't succeed, but Linda and Myrna did. With Sara I tried the experiment to see what would happen if I tried, just once, to "turn my back on love." My only criticism of that experiment lies in the idea that I didn't take it far enough and try to adopt it as the way I related to women I desired in general. I thought the experiment had its conclusion when I let go of Sara. Little did I know that two more women waited in the wings with basically the same agenda.
And how could I possibly comprehend something like that? The fullness of my years and the understanding of the stigma of my diagnosis compelled me to look at that time from some distance and realize that, yes, the possibility exists that multitudes of women who come into my purview just don't get it. They will see what they want to see, no matter what. After all, members of my own family treated me in much the same way, not too long ago. Specifically, that the romantically obsessive man with a major mental illness gets seen, automatically, as the transgressor and bad guy in any deal that unfolds between myself and some woman who, most likely, believes that God is on her side no matter what she may do.
So, they line up outside my door for just those reasons. The metaphor fits. One train rolls out of the station, another one rolls in. I sent the last one on her way, I believe, and maybe I'll have a break in this pandemic time before the next one dares to come along. I don't know what kind of shape I will find myself in when or if that occurs, but I never do, do I. These days I find myself projecting this kind of thought process onto random attractive young women I see in my world. Is that a good idea? I don't know, but I tend not to act on every single negative thought that comes into my head, so I feel free to think whatever thoughts I want to think. I usually entertain at least two or more possibilities when, for example, I'm on my daily walk and I see an attractive teenage girl give me a guarded, suspicious look. I said to my old friend Sam in 2018 that I usually try to entertain at least two, if not more, possibilities for such a situation, and that the best course of action for me to take in any case remains for me to do nothing.
I feel no need to go onto online dating sites, or try more positive approaches to try to pick up women who do not have this vicious, destructive agenda. My learned impulse to let go of such vicious, horrible women solves so many problems for me and guides me so well in my relations with more datable women that I don't feel much of a need to make something happen for me right here, right now. One thing that has happened, though, is that I more often approach some women who may not necessarily vibe all sketchy in addition to flat out rejecting bad deals from the Saras, Lindas, and Myrnas of the world. I approached five other women while under the yoke of the last problematic woman, and I had no luck, but at least I tried. Only one of those women vibed sketchy, the others I had no problem with. I hope that trend continues if we ever get out of this pandemic time in the next several months or so.
And how could I possibly comprehend something like that? The fullness of my years and the understanding of the stigma of my diagnosis compelled me to look at that time from some distance and realize that, yes, the possibility exists that multitudes of women who come into my purview just don't get it. They will see what they want to see, no matter what. After all, members of my own family treated me in much the same way, not too long ago. Specifically, that the romantically obsessive man with a major mental illness gets seen, automatically, as the transgressor and bad guy in any deal that unfolds between myself and some woman who, most likely, believes that God is on her side no matter what she may do.
So, they line up outside my door for just those reasons. The metaphor fits. One train rolls out of the station, another one rolls in. I sent the last one on her way, I believe, and maybe I'll have a break in this pandemic time before the next one dares to come along. I don't know what kind of shape I will find myself in when or if that occurs, but I never do, do I. These days I find myself projecting this kind of thought process onto random attractive young women I see in my world. Is that a good idea? I don't know, but I tend not to act on every single negative thought that comes into my head, so I feel free to think whatever thoughts I want to think. I usually entertain at least two or more possibilities when, for example, I'm on my daily walk and I see an attractive teenage girl give me a guarded, suspicious look. I said to my old friend Sam in 2018 that I usually try to entertain at least two, if not more, possibilities for such a situation, and that the best course of action for me to take in any case remains for me to do nothing.
I feel no need to go onto online dating sites, or try more positive approaches to try to pick up women who do not have this vicious, destructive agenda. My learned impulse to let go of such vicious, horrible women solves so many problems for me and guides me so well in my relations with more datable women that I don't feel much of a need to make something happen for me right here, right now. One thing that has happened, though, is that I more often approach some women who may not necessarily vibe all sketchy in addition to flat out rejecting bad deals from the Saras, Lindas, and Myrnas of the world. I approached five other women while under the yoke of the last problematic woman, and I had no luck, but at least I tried. Only one of those women vibed sketchy, the others I had no problem with. I hope that trend continues if we ever get out of this pandemic time in the next several months or so.
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