One of the most touching things a young man seeking my advice has ever said was:
“I have some questions on how to deal with women and breakups.
But if you don’t want to answer, I completely understand, since reliving some of yours must be soul-wrenching.”
It meant a great deal to me to hear that.
In fact, more than most would guess.
Although my writing may often sound clinical and calculated, its origins are quite the opposite.
See, the things I post are not cribbed from other sites/men.
The lessons I impart aren’t from some divinely inspired teacher’s guide.
The theories I present don’t emerge from a sterile, academic environment.
I leaned from living.
Good or bad; right or wrong.
For all my flaws, I’ve lived on the front lines of life and engaged with it in all its infinite gore and glory.
So, whether you find yourself nodding in agreement or shaking your head in disgust as you read my work:
Know that it’s all very real.
On that note, understand that – not only is it tremendous effort to put oneself out there honestly – there’s also little money in it.
Thus, if you could see your way clear to buying a copy of my ► first ◄ or ► second ◄ book, or perhaps donate via PayPal via my email [whiskeyandashes (at) gmail (dot) com], I’d be exceptionally grateful.
And understand the closest thing your money will get me to the “high life” will be a bottle of whiskey to have by me as I write more for you.
Throughout the course of my life, I’ve been called “bitter” and “cynical”.
Much of my online oeuvre has led me to be considered “too dark” for more than a few readers.
So imagine my shock and surprise when a comment I received read:
“MGTOW is the actual chimera recognition of their evil existence on this earth and the freedom to escape the false dream promised and betrayed. Cheers from reality and how it truly is.”
I confess, deluded is something I’ve never been accused of being.
Just goes to show that there’s a first time for everything.
But this does prompt an important post.
See, I’ve worked hard to avoid discounting any man’s experience.
Whether my reality is yours, or vice versa, is irrelevant.
The events of our lives mold and control us almost utterly.
Regardless whether we admit – or realize – it.
Men date women much like their mothers.
Women date men much like their fathers (especially if they didn’t really have one but that’s for another day).
We all recreate our childhood paradigms in adulthood.
Yet, our’s is not an unalterable course.
So what I do try to demonstrate is that a change of thought (and subsequent action) can – and often will – change our experiences.
Thus altering our reality.
My road into and through Hell taught me just how powerful breaking patterns of behavior and – more importantly thought – is in making life more bearable (if not enjoyable).
In fact, dating not one but two Borderline Personality Disordered gals led me to the quick admission that I was the common thread in my horrific fate.
And the fact that particular thread needed cutting.
After that, I’ve dated plenty of girls that didn’t cheat, steal or mistreat me.
Because I knew what traps to avoid.
That being mentioned, I’ve never once said men, women or life itself were perfect.
Quite the opposite, if you look through this blog at even a cursory level.
What I have said, at many times and in many ways, is:
While experience may be a despot, you are the rightful monarch of your [earthly] existence.
Even now, after her cheating, betrayal and madness—
I still recall every supple curve, every flash of those bright eyes and every in-joke we shared.
Restaurants and bar excursions; amazing sex and root beer floats.
Most of all, I remember how she’d make coming home – from my miserable, frustrating government job of selling my dying country in broken pieces – the best thing that had ever happened to a poor kid from (literally) the wrong side of the tracks.
She was also the woman that absolutely razed every single belief I had to scorched rubble.
She pushed me onto the long-road suicide attempt that caused another woman to give me the nom de guerre I employ on Twitter (including its abbreviated form among select friends) ► Whiskey & Ashes ◄ and landed me here, in our corner of the ‘net.
Yet, there was another thing she did that was equally powerful.
Although she left me – tears streaming down my face – on the roadside, wearing a suit, awaiting my attorney to take me to fight my dismissal from government service…
She left this poor kid for other women to pick back up.
To show me there was still a life worth living.
To help me heal.
To laugh again.
To realize, like everything in life, there’s good and bad.
That fire cooks as well as burns.
Truth be told, that was the biggest irony.
See, I’d had infinitely more success with women after her than I’d ever had prior to her (and I did well enough for myself).
She taught me that women will put you in the gutter faster than anything.
But fish you out just as quickly— often quicker.
Losing my polish and revealing my rough edges only served to have more women latch onto me, oddly enough.
And bless me with their kindness.
Sure, she broke me.
But her sex [gender] saved me, too.
Many have come and gone since her.
To be honest, I’ve loved every one of them.
They were good girls, each in their own way.
My relationships became healthier than they’d ever been.
Because now I knew women were just people, too.
Struggling to get by.
Why do you think I do this?
I hate women the same way a food critic hates food, a film critic hates film and music critic hates music.
In short: I don’t.
In fact, I can’t think of any [earthly] thing I love more.
I just don’t pretend women are flawless.
Now, I can only speak from my experience, but it speaks pretty damn loudly.
And it tells me that there is something encoded deep within men.
That we’ll never see depths of Hell without women.
But we’ll never really see the heights of Heaven, either.
As, God rest his soul, the Private Man used to say:
Feminism liberated men, not women.
To which I add:
Lamentably, the freedom thus granted scares and confuses the life out of men since they (at a deep, unconscious and likely genetic) level, have no idea what to do with it.
I’d argue that’s the plague from which so many men suffer, these days.
A soul-rending hole that previous male generations never had.
In fact, that’s why I’m always banging on about learning to love and respect yourself as men.
So you can live with or without women, seeing as the good ones continue to be scarce.
However, there’s something about the right (for you) kind of woman in your life that will keep you going like nothing else ever could.
Something that makes dark times, shit jobs and shittier days manageable.
I flatter myself I’m a good writer.
But I’d be a fool to think I could articulate it.
Let’s just say a good woman is like a second wind during an exhausting marathon.
Or akin to getting into your house from the car just before the heavy rain starts falling.
Or simply a well timed and hearty laugh at gallows humor.
I’m sure it’s a feature, not a bug.
Look, if you want to go MGTOW, I completely understand.
Seriously.
If anyone has right and reason to do so, it’s me; I’ve paid enough dues to march my way to the front of that line.
But I don’t.
And won’t.
Because, although I’d never have fallen without her.
If I had to choose the sentiment most voiced by men – of all ages – when they come to me for advice regarding women, it would be this:
“If it’s this must trouble get and keep a woman, then it’s not worth it.”
Admittedly, it’s phrased in myriad ways but – as I said – it all boils down to that conclusion.
How I respond differs between Type One and Two speaker.
If it’s someone I feel won’t bother listening to me or has previously hand-waved my wisdom away (Type One), I tersely retort:
Then stock up on tissues and hand lotion; you’ll need them.
If it’s someone that is genuinely frustrated yet remains open to useful information (Type Two), I calmly say:
Think about how much work you put into getting a good job.
Or a nice car.
Or a trip you’ve been anxious for years to take.
Do the math on exactly how many hours you’d need study to accomplish or earn to afford your desire.
Got it?
OK; final step.
Realize that – potentially – this goal will give you healthy children, a loved one to stand beside you during both the best and worst of days, a regular sexual partner, someone in whom you can confide fears and dreams, someone to care for you when your ill and laugh with you when joyous (and with you when you’re ill, too, if your lucky).
How does a trip, career or car stack up to all of that?
And that’s just for starters.
I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet [that’s next week’s post].
So, whenever you get frustrated, remember:
You can turn around and march back any time you like.
(A decision just as viable as the alternative, no doubt.)
However, before you decide:
Be sure you have a crystal clear picture of where you were headed and, most importantly—
80-Proof Oinomancy 