First they came for the PUAs,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a PUA.
Then they came for the MRAs,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a MRA.
Then they came for the MGTOWs,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a MG[H]OW.
Then they came for me,
and there was no one left to speak for me.
Call it a reprise.
He gets it.
Ω
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I try to explain to him what it was like:
Stuck in a severely emotionally abusive relationship for almost ten years.
She’d constantly list and exaggerate my flaws.
She’d blame me for every negative emotion she had, regardless how random it was or if I was even present at the time.
She’d belittle everything about me she could so I’d doubt the most minor positive quality I had.
She’d gaslight me; twisting and bending reality until its screams drove me mad in order to win any argument or make whatever horrible thing (cheating, stealing, etc) she was doing seem righteous.
The times I managed to pull away, my phone would ring off the hook.
She’d drive to my house if I didn’t answer.
She’d follow me wherever I’d go.
Trying to get out, I found myself blocked at every turn.
I could find no support, no safe-haven.
(My family gave me my low self-esteem and never offered help in any area, so even that common avenue was unusable.)
I learned, years later:
She’d poisoned my friends, saying I abused her.
(I was wondering why they were all gone by the time I’d finally been freed of her…)
She’d threatened women who so much as looked at me.
If she wasn’t able to threaten them, she’d befriended them in order to get close then defame me.
All to support her claim (one that she incessantly made throughout those Hellish years) that no one else would – or could – love me.
It’s difficult to discuss this because few believe such thing could happen to anyone.
Especially a man.
Emotional abuse is barely recognized by the public.
When, in fact, it’s just as bad – if not worse than – physical abuse.
People will believe bruises and broken bones.
Whereas mental scars, depression, suicidal tendencies and personality changes can simply and easily be foisted on the victim.
I wish I knew 20 years ago what I know now.
I’d have avoided all of that insanity.
I’d have enjoyed the best year of my life.
Rather than squandered them in misery.
My life now would be vastly different.
And I’d likely be one of the happiest people you’d ever meet.
He gives a polite nod.
But my unfailing talent reveals:
He doesn’t believe me.
In case it wasn’t obvious to this point how such a thing could last a decade…
Odds are your reaction was the same as his.
Ω
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I know I’ve only got about 10 readers.
But I’ll say it anyway, to regulars, lurkers and those that stumble upon my words.
Here it is:
Stop reading my blog.
Seriously.
Fucking stop.
The internet is bullshit and you’re coming here out of curiosity, boredom or to learn what you think you already know.
So stop.
Instead, when I post:
Print it out.
Keep it in your wallet.
The back of your liquor cabinet.
Folded in your pack of smokes.
Beneath your drug stash.
Then read it when you’re three-sheets-to-the-wind.
High as the hopes of a child.
Beaten in the gutter after a night of bad decisions.
Weeping so hard after a break-up that your tears will cause the ink on the page to run.
Because it’s only then you’ll get it.
It’s only then you’ll be open.
It’s only then you’ll hear what is.
Rather than what you expect.
Ω
I keep my hair long.
In this part of the world:
It’s a survival tactic.
See, ’round these parts, black folks know white men with money keep their hair short [but not buzz cut].
White men with long hair in this town are known to be poor, crazy or dangerous.
Often a combination thereof.
The majority of white guys here have buzz cuts.
So they figure a white man with long hair can fight, since he’s pretty likely to get mocked.
Now, my style doesn’t stop bullets or give me some magic shield.
So I could always get beaten or killed.
But it certainly helps my chances.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
I let everyone believe the Reaper favors me.
Ω
Sometimes people just don’t get it.
So many in the ‘sphere keep knocking women’s irrationality.
Here’s a wake-up call:
For 95% of humanity over 99.9% of human history—
Life was/is a nightmare of shit, work and blood.
With sex and a couple of pretty sunsets to keep us from jumping off of the nearest, tallest precipice.
Women are irrational because, for 99.9% of human history, you’d have to be to keep bringing life into it all.
Many of us are slowly reawakening to that fact.
So give me an irrational woman any day of the week.
[But not crazy; I’ve had more than my fill of that.]
A woman that likes kittens, puppies and babies.
That sends me stupid shit I couldn’t care less about.
That’s positive, life–affirming and tries to see the good in everything.
Especially my profligate self.
She can be the light.
I’ll be the shadow.
And, together:
We’ll be a masterpiece of painting.
Ω
“I don’t know her life or her medication history but she has the diagnostic sign of her cuff pulled up over her wrist in what I call “the borderline sleeve,’…”
– http://thelastpsychiatrist.com/2013/03/dont_hate_her_because_shes_suc.html
They (the borderline type) do this to manifest the childlike self-perception they have.
As in, the clothes feel/are too big for her.
Just like the world around them (so they believe).
This is also why they seek the protective/possessive type.
This “eternal child” (I won’t say Peter Pan [complex] because that’s different in significant ways) both loves and loathes this self–image.
TLP, you owe me a drink for this one.
I like whiskey.
A great deal.
Ω
I started this blog simply to be counted among those in the ‘sphere.
More of a show of fraternitas than anything.
Then I started posting more.
Now that I do and have about 10 regular readers:
It’s more of an “I told you so”.
It’s the little things, petty as they may often be, that get us through the day.
So, many thanks to those of you that give me your time.
Ω
One more for the oinomancer:
► https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2013/03/07/everybodys-so-different-i-havent-changed/
Ω
80-Proof Oinomancy 