Tag: abuse

I Finally Understand The Girl I Like

She’s fascinated me for years.  I usually get an idea of people’s motivations and goals pretty easily, but she was always a mystery.  She’d do self-destructive things for seemingly no reason, put relationships that were meaningful to her in jeopardy when she didn’t have to and was smart enough to know she shouldn’t.  I always put it down to the abuse she went through when she was younger screwing her up (which is very true) but now I understand her motivation.  Let me add here that I’m in no way qualified to diagnose anyone with anything, and this post is just be expressing some kind of dark “eureka!” moment that’s been three-plus years in the making.


She’s an adrenaline junkie.


The Girl That I Like told me she was an adrenaline junkie a couple of months ago and again a couple of days ago, but it’s only now that it’s clicked that that’s why she does everything.  Why she compulsively cheats on every relationship she’s ever had, with people I know she loves and would rather die than lose.  Why she lies habitually and unnecessarily, even telling stories that paint her and those she cares about in a very dark light.  Why she steals pettily.  All because it gives her a thrill she can’t get any other way, a thrill she can never get by being good or doing the right thing.


She’s young and I shudder to think where this is going to go once the cheap thrills of being naughty wear off..  She currently seeing a mental health team regarding her depression and anger issues, and I hope they get her the help she needs.


Why I Liked “The Girl I Like”

She was troubled.  She came from abuse and did things in her life that she regretted deeply and hates herself for.  She was an habitual liar, likely as a result of covering for horrible things since she was very young.  She went from calling and texting every day to giving no fucks at all with nothing in between, presumably because she’d found someone else she found more exciting.


But she was also the most fun and exciting person I’ve ever known.  She had an amazing sense of humour.  She felt everything so intensely, whether good or bad there were no buffers, nothing she held back.  When she was happy she was positively blissful, her joy was the most pure I’d ever known from anyone.  The closest I could describe it was like an excited puppy.


Of course, that meant her downers were just as severe – countless suicide attempts, self harm, drug addictions etc.


She was someone I could tell anything to without judgement, and who told me (but also pretty much anyone who asked) anything at all and knew I wouldn’t judge.  She knows more about me than anyone in this world except my ex, and I probably am in the top 3 or 5 for knowing all there is about her.


When she stopped calling or replying to my texts, I was torn.  How can you tell when someone’s pushing you away because they’re lost in their own tornado of depression versus when they’re genuinely no longer interested in being your friend?  I told myself that if it was the former and something happened, I’d never forgive myself.  So I kept worrying about her and texting and once in a while got a reply, many hours alter.  I got to speak to her for a grand total of 2 minutes and twenty seconds on the phone the other day, in which she told me everything’s going great and that she’d gotten some great news weeks before (but didn’t bother to share with me), then made a fishy-sounding excuse and went.


But still, I love her very much and wish her all the best.  She makes everyone else seem boring in comparison.  I just need to accept she doesn’t want to be friends anymore and move on.  And that hurts so much it’s unreal.

The paranoid, insecure man that bullying made me

As touched on before, if someone doesn’t text back they hate me or are sick of me and everything I’ve seen from them in the days, weeks and months previous is a lie or they’ve changed their minds since and are now happily texting someone they like more.


If someone asks me about a certain event, they’re just mining for gossip, and don’t really care how said events impacted me.  I’m nothing.


If I don’t get that job I had the really good interview for, I’m an idiot who can’t tell if the interview is going well or not – and it means I think I’m having a good time with my friends but really they’re not enjoying themselves and that’s why they don’t text back and that’s why they hate me…


I was constantly psychologically bullied in high school, and I think this is the result.  Kids would point and laugh at me when I walked up.  It started off as a small group of three or four, but everyone picked up on it and soon it was about eight or ten of them.


I knew what they were doing, and at the start I told myself I wasn’t going to believe a word they said,  But after a year, I believed every word they said,  I was fat, I was a useless piece of shit.  I smelled, I was ugly.  They’d claim my family was incestuous.  I remember asking one of the lead bullies what I’d have to do to make them stop.  He replied, “We’ll only stop when you kill yourself”


In high school I had no social skills, no conversation skills, I couldn’t talk to girls to save my life.  I was hopeless.  But did I deserve that?  Fuck no.  Nobody does.


So one of them would sometimes try to befriend me.  I’d of course be suspicious, but we’d talk during the day and at the end, he’d turn on me and have all his bully friends there and they’d all laugh at me and mock the things I’d said that day.


In my adult life, I’m still a little surprised when someone I’ve just met is nice to me, or obviously wants to be my friend or be liked by me.  It’s this weird thing I struggle to get my head around.  Like, don’t they know what a fat, gross, smelly fuckup loser I am?  They could find out at any time!

I Can’t Be Bad

For years I’ve wanted to say, “fuck it!”, ignore my conscience and just do whatever I want.  From not fucking a girl who gets drunk and throws herself at me (see earlier entry) to not fucking the girl I’m secretly in love with (and recently just found out is into the same fucked-up shit as me, see earlier entry) because I don’t want to risk breaking up her new family and have her baby grow up without a father I’d had enough.  I hoped I could just turn heel like a WWE wrestler, stop giving any fucks and take what I wanted, when I wanted.


But no.


Before I say the next bit, let me just preface with:  EVEN HYPOTHETICAL “BAD” DOORMAT DAN WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS.  My version of being bad is sleeping with women already in relationships, and not giving a shit about the consequences to them.  Cheating on women I’m in relationships with.  Not turning down drunk women throwing themselves at me.  You know, like all my friends and most of the people I know.


I’ve actually envied a man who hit, raped, cheated on and abused women after a long screaming argument on the phone with one of his victims, who insisted she could change him even after her mother couldn’t and they were involved for a decade.  Yes, you heard that right.  The disgusting cunt was cheating on the mother with her teenage daughter a third of his age.  If there was anyone on this planet I could kill and get away with it, it’d be him.  Years later, he’s still somehow with the mother, the daughter has thankfully moved away but she’s damaged from what happened.  Why does he get whatever he wants, get away with it, somehow not get sent to jail and even years later still gets to fuck and beat the mother?  It breaks my heart.  It makes me feel empty and like there’s no point to anything.


He got whatever he wanted and the women he hit or forced himself upon came back to him again and again.  They fucking begged for it.  They defended him.  He was “dreamy” and “gorgeous”.  They fucking stopped being my friend because I got mad and told them what I thought of their abuser for the millionth time after one of them came to me crying because he’d roughed her up.  They were good people who should have known better and it tore me to shreds seeing them suffer over and over.


My biggest turn on for sex is someone giving themselves to me.  Being wanted is what makes me hard.  I can be as rough as someone wants, but always and only with full consent of that person.


So back to my aborted heel turn, even after many drinks I couldn’t ask my friend (the one who got drunk and naked weeks ago) to fuck me.  I couldn’t pressure my best friend into sex even though I’m pretty sure she’d say yes (random aside: She got changed in front of me yesterday, no fucks given.  Oh my god she’s beautiful).  I can’t do it.  I hoped if I drank enough I’d take that one biggest and most difficult first step, and the rest would come easily.  Part of me thinks I’m weak and a failure, and another part thinks it’s a good thing.  But even if it’s a good thing, to what end?  I’m still not getting sex, the people who are are total assholes and I don’t believe in any god or afterlife, so I’m not accumulating any “heaven points” for being a good boy.


So is being good an end unto itself?  I’m not proud of not getting what I want.  I’m frustrated.  People like me, but they all move on to other people.  I’m boring.  But I guess it’s my calling.