Suspicion, Guilt and Fate

People make mistakes all the time. Some of those mistakes take a very long time to come to fruition. Of course, the mistake itself is made at the outset of an event and the rest is just exposition. Mistakes that repeat over and over for the same person are, I’m sorry to say, probably the fault of the person making the mistake. Mistakes in relationships are fairly common and when those mistakes repeat, well, one has to ask a question or two about whether there’s a common denominator.

Girls like bad boys. In fact, a 2008 study by the New Mexico State University at Las Cruces (link to ABC news article)indicated that bad boys get the most girls through the exercise of what would otherwise be considered negative traits – “deceit, callousness and impulsive behavior.” The why of it is interesting, but not where I’m going here.

I’m not a bad boy. Even my mother said that I was a good boy. I know, though, that I’ve done many “bad” things – not evil, mind you, but bad just the same. At the core of me, though, I don’t see a cause for deception, diversion or politics in any kind of relationship. Needless to say, I never really did “get the girl” and I’m much better left to things technical instead of being out on the road selling myself. I’m not ashamed of this, particulary but, apparently, I a) should be and b) am a failure because of it.

What’s worse, for some reason, women seem to think that they should punish me for my caring but sedate life choices. Um, no, that’s not okay. For instance, and not pointing to any New Jersey resident in particular, a love relationship I had was terminated simply because I refused to be discarded (yet again, I should add.) Yes, now I’m complaining, but only because I have a point to make. Hold on for a minute.

This woman lured me into her web of romance thinking God only knows what and in the end, simply terminated our relationship. When I say “terminated,” I mean as in that now-classic line from Apocalypse Now where the CIA agent say, “With extreme prejudice.” One could take that phrase to mean what it seems to imply, that is, “kick his ass but good, chop off his dick and then dump his saggy-assed body in the Mekong” (or Raritan, to keep it all in the scope that Jerseyites can process.) Or, it can mean, “without recourse.”

So, she terminated our relationship by simply being progressively more and more unavailable until I could never get her on the phone, she wouldn’t respond to texts and e-mails were, well, impossible. Maybe it was a ploy. Maybe she thought I should feel how much I already felt for her by removing the source of my addiction and forcing me to go cold turkey so that, what? I could feel the “burn”? Maybe she had learned or was taught that men love the pursuit. Well, maybe most men, but then, I’m not most men.

Instead, I was frightened, hurt, insulted, angry and frustrated. I asked myself whether I should keep backing up until I found a new path or stand my ground and retain what little self-esteem I had left. And, she absolutely didn’t listen to me on this. Why? Couldn’t get her on the phone. Couldn’t get her via text. And e-mail? Well, she knows what happened. She decided and I accepted her decision, as much as I did so out of anger and sadness. The sorriest thing is that, had she permitted it, I could have talked her away from the abyss. So, she didn’t want it. So, she’s gone.

Now, in all this, I gave up my soul. I loved her totally. She had me, completely. And that’s a dangerous thing. It’s dangerous to trust and count on another person especially when the commitment level, when it counts, is different. True, I may have over-reacted. True, I should have given her time, space and should have kept chasing. True, she made compromises for my nut-state. But I was never dishonest about where I was coming from. If she didn’t want to know what other sordid thing was going on in the darker corners of my life, I didn’t tell her. When she wanted to know, I told all as I sensed her eyes glazing over. Heck, my eyes glaze over by the shear repetition. But when does the bullcrap end? When? Seriously? It’s not a game. Okay – it is a game, but I don’t want to play it. This is all too goddamn important. No, really.

So, I’m down yet another woman. That makes the woman count zero now. None. Null. Christmas is a less than a week away and I doubt that I’ll hear from her and I have no way of contacting her. I could write her a letter . . . stupid idea. I’m embarassed to contact her kids to touch base since they clearly know what went down before I did so I’m not in the mood to schmuckify myself further. So, yeah, as my kid says, that’s it. Accept it, asshole. Love the pain.