Allo-allo my old friend,
I certainly was shocked to hear from you, and somehow, simultaneously, not shocked at all. I think of you from time to time, just last Sunday, in fact, for no reason other than I wore a dress I had wore on one of our dates so many years ago. How funny.
I'm so sorry to hear about your divorce. I always hoped you'd find the happiness and romance you sought. But let me be the first to welcome you to the twice-divorced club! Sorry I'm not much of a welcoming committee! :) Hell, I'm practically in the thrice-divorced club, myself. I started seeing someone rather seriously about 5 months ago, to no avail, really. I can't seem to find anyone that lives up to their presentation of themselves. I seem to only find men that are sort of mean, and soured from life. Just completely dispirited, or something.
But, I'm actually in a decent headspace, myself. Despite all the BS, I keep plugging away. I still can find some laughs here and there, still writing, and still loving El Duderino. :)
Although, at this juncture, I can only offer friendship, if you ever want to commiserate over some whiskey and trade war stories, I think I'd be up for that.
Enigmatically yours,
Monday, November 13, 2017
The Harold Theory of Power Dynamics; or What it's Like to Always Lose
Firstly, my smugness or cavalier attitude didn’t stem from me thinking, ‘I’m so right about this.’ It comes from the painful nature of the idea, itself. It’s an involuntary defense mechanism; I’m steeling myself off from the hurt of the detestable subject matter of your past loves/infatuations/conquests/relationships. I get jealous like any other human being. I’m not so great, nor am I so evolved to not be affected by things like that. I’m a flawed, frightened person, like everybody else.
Secondly, the reason I even bother chewing on this idea, sometimes in the back of my head, sometimes in the forefront, for three months is two-fold.
One, I’ve had nothing but terrible experiences with the ex-girlfriends of the guys I’ve fell for. Like, I found these discarded, but lovely persons that seemingly no one cared for, and all of a sudden, now that I’m in the picture, everybody wants back in because the male’s intrinsic value just shot straight through to the stratosphere, now that they are highly desired. (Sorry to talk about people in such clinical terms, but it’s the easiest way to describe it). It’s this real bullshit theme that’s run through my life. And I guess I’ve gotten pretty good at picking out which one (or ones) are going to be the problem. My intuition does all the heavy lifting, of course, but my prefrontal cortex is charged with making sense of it all. And Harold was the one, above even the presentness of others, that seemed to stick in my craw.
And two, sort of why past is prologue, I got the distinct impression that you may still have feelings for that person, by some of the things you told me. Not just how much you loved her, or pursued her, and ran after her, but how immediately you fell for her. And you suggested, one night, that we should go to dinner at the restaurant where she works so you could sort of use me to rub her nose in it. Make her eat her heart out or something, with no real regard about how I might feel in that scenario. (Incidentally, like a cheap means to an unnecessary, and rather vengeful end.) And more generally, you made mention a number of occasions, and I’m paraphrasing here, how you didn’t want to treat me poorly because of past women taking advantage of you, often sandwiched with an apology somewhere in there. It seemed clear to me that there was still some unresolved feelings.
These ideas floated in my head, ceaselessly, so I think at a certain point, my brain had to do something. That something was the The Harold Theory of Power Dynamics; a rationale for why I was getting the short end of the stick. Which I hope by now, you see is riddled with my own demons and painful experiences. I got the distinct impression, albeit, maybe mistakenly, that you really went out of your way, and bent over backwards for her. In an effort to make her love you, I assume. She sounds withholding and cold. Which is a perfect platform to rail against. In fact, you have to rail against, because it’s nothing but hardness. There is no soft landing, or warm place to burrow, so railing, rebelling, or even coaxing and cajoling are all one’s got.
If someone has a low opinion of themselves, they aren’t going to trust anyone that sees real value in them. They are going to unconsciously think that person is either an idiot or a subversive. And they will find no value in the person that finds value in them. So they seem rather nonchalant about losing what amounts to be a valueless person. No grand gestures or romantic last stands, await them. Which is squarely my fucking camp. That’s why the Harolds of the world get sought after, and the loving, pathetic nobodies of the world get their hearts broken. Sincerity doesn’t pay. Real love doesn’t pay. Because the human mind is full of shit. It prefers the dynamic tension of the power struggle to the banal contentment of settled happiness. (I never said this was a cheerful theory. It’s cynical as fuck.) Oh sure, eventually the men all come around, they finally see the light, but it’s usually too late for me. Too late for me to trust the person or open myself back up. And so, too late for them too. So it’s a real fun time, man. Nobody gets what they want, and another wave of jaded, damaged people get thrust back into the world.
This theory could be totally off-base. I don’t particularly feel that way, but it’s out there to be disproved. That’s the scientific method. It’s also not as cynical as it seems. It was developed in response to not wanting the same pattern to be repeated here, with us. Even though it looked like it could go that direction.
This overly philosophical, overly analytical shit is part of me, too.
Your neurotic, fucked-up, but very loving girl,
Secondly, the reason I even bother chewing on this idea, sometimes in the back of my head, sometimes in the forefront, for three months is two-fold.
One, I’ve had nothing but terrible experiences with the ex-girlfriends of the guys I’ve fell for. Like, I found these discarded, but lovely persons that seemingly no one cared for, and all of a sudden, now that I’m in the picture, everybody wants back in because the male’s intrinsic value just shot straight through to the stratosphere, now that they are highly desired. (Sorry to talk about people in such clinical terms, but it’s the easiest way to describe it). It’s this real bullshit theme that’s run through my life. And I guess I’ve gotten pretty good at picking out which one (or ones) are going to be the problem. My intuition does all the heavy lifting, of course, but my prefrontal cortex is charged with making sense of it all. And Harold was the one, above even the presentness of others, that seemed to stick in my craw.
And two, sort of why past is prologue, I got the distinct impression that you may still have feelings for that person, by some of the things you told me. Not just how much you loved her, or pursued her, and ran after her, but how immediately you fell for her. And you suggested, one night, that we should go to dinner at the restaurant where she works so you could sort of use me to rub her nose in it. Make her eat her heart out or something, with no real regard about how I might feel in that scenario. (Incidentally, like a cheap means to an unnecessary, and rather vengeful end.) And more generally, you made mention a number of occasions, and I’m paraphrasing here, how you didn’t want to treat me poorly because of past women taking advantage of you, often sandwiched with an apology somewhere in there. It seemed clear to me that there was still some unresolved feelings.
These ideas floated in my head, ceaselessly, so I think at a certain point, my brain had to do something. That something was the The Harold Theory of Power Dynamics; a rationale for why I was getting the short end of the stick. Which I hope by now, you see is riddled with my own demons and painful experiences. I got the distinct impression, albeit, maybe mistakenly, that you really went out of your way, and bent over backwards for her. In an effort to make her love you, I assume. She sounds withholding and cold. Which is a perfect platform to rail against. In fact, you have to rail against, because it’s nothing but hardness. There is no soft landing, or warm place to burrow, so railing, rebelling, or even coaxing and cajoling are all one’s got.
If someone has a low opinion of themselves, they aren’t going to trust anyone that sees real value in them. They are going to unconsciously think that person is either an idiot or a subversive. And they will find no value in the person that finds value in them. So they seem rather nonchalant about losing what amounts to be a valueless person. No grand gestures or romantic last stands, await them. Which is squarely my fucking camp. That’s why the Harolds of the world get sought after, and the loving, pathetic nobodies of the world get their hearts broken. Sincerity doesn’t pay. Real love doesn’t pay. Because the human mind is full of shit. It prefers the dynamic tension of the power struggle to the banal contentment of settled happiness. (I never said this was a cheerful theory. It’s cynical as fuck.) Oh sure, eventually the men all come around, they finally see the light, but it’s usually too late for me. Too late for me to trust the person or open myself back up. And so, too late for them too. So it’s a real fun time, man. Nobody gets what they want, and another wave of jaded, damaged people get thrust back into the world.
This theory could be totally off-base. I don’t particularly feel that way, but it’s out there to be disproved. That’s the scientific method. It’s also not as cynical as it seems. It was developed in response to not wanting the same pattern to be repeated here, with us. Even though it looked like it could go that direction.
This overly philosophical, overly analytical shit is part of me, too.
Your neurotic, fucked-up, but very loving girl,
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