A few days ago Recovering Love Addict 24 wrote the following:
Something happened yesterday evening which really frustrated me. My bottom lines include not being able to flirt with girls, not asking girls for their numbers etc. But yesterday the first day of my bottom lines and my first day of sobriety I was waiting for a tube to last night’s meeting and a girl approached me on the platform. She was absolutely stunning; tall, slim, dark hair, totally my type. You couldn’t write this as never in my whole time in London has such an attractive girl approached me. She asked if she could stand with me and she tried to make conversation however I remained true to the promises I had made and I told her I was unavailable. Immediately after and for quite a while I was so angry with myself for turning down such an opportunity. A week before I would have jumped on it and totally flirted with her, got her number and pursued her until we had sex. But yesterday I stopped myself. I found myself clouded. First with resentment for god, I was screaming out in my head, “Why are you doing this to me.” Second I was resentful towards myself for not acting out and flirting etc. telling myself I had missed such an amazing opportunity. But then I realised I did the right thing for me. I am not ready for girls. I am not ready for a relationship. I have so much work to do on myself first and I need to concentrate on that.
The interesting thing is that Recovering Love Addict 24’s encounter with this girl might not be as random as you might think. According to the Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous “big book”, there is a “diabolic accuracy” to such “coincidental” meetings which “tended to occur when we were most vulnerable to them” (p110). The book urges SLAA members to accept “the possibility that psychic occurrences can happen, in order to make sense of some of these situations which seemed so uncanny”. (ibid.). On p111, we are told that “perhaps the most important principal here was not to deny to ourselves that we were, indeed, being severely tested”.
I would agree with all of the above based on a random encounter I had on Monday at work with the Arab. You might be thinking “C’mon, girl! You work with the guy. You were bound to bump into him at some point!” Well, this is true, but my company is huge, and we work in entirely separate buildings and, in four months of chatting with him online, I’ve never once seen him – until last week when I was out running, and then this week. Last week’s encounter triggered a new obsession about him, and this week’s sorely tested the resolve I had found over the weekend to ignore him.
I was walking into the main building to grab some lunch in the café when he came out, looking, I might add, every inch my ideal man – tall, dark, handsome and athletic. This was the first time I’d ever seen him up close, and he really is just so incredibly handsome. I can count on one hand the number of men I’ve found that attractive over all my thirty-odd years on this planet. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak, too, and his voice was everything I thought it would be – deep, raspy and sexy. He wasn’t exactly in a rush to stop and talk, and I haven’t heard from him at all this week. I haven’t contacted him because, well, princesses don’t beg, goddammit! (although they are apparently allowed to obsess non-stop about douchebags).
It’s for the best he hasn’t been in touch, as every fibre of my being tells me that he’s trouble. I can’t begin to fathom why a man would chase and chase and chase me, and then – poof! – blow me off when I finally agree to go out with him. And despite knowing that I shouldn’t get involved with him, it hurts like hell to feel rejected. Logically, I know the issue is that he’s weird, but I still find myself thinking “What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t he want me? Why hasn’t he contacted me?”
I also feel that I have made myself incredibly vulnerable to this man. I opened up too quickly, and told him far too much personal information – most of it unsolicited (I still haven’t worked out what boundaries are!), but on one memorable occasion he asked me whether I had ever cheated on MM when I knew the marriage was on the rocks. Since the dude barely asked me any questions at all, it was very strange that he asked this one. I was kinda put on the spot, and my idiotic brain actually thought: “Oh my God, the poor dear! He’s probably been cheated on before, and wants to know that I wouldn’t do that! Oh, how he must have suffered!”. My response was half-truth/half-lie, as I mentioned my dalliance with Rebound Guy which began one week before MM and I broke up. I, of course, did not tell him the full extent of what happened. I said it was just “kissing”.
I went round to a colleague’s after work, who happens to be gay, and you can always trust a gay man’s opinion about your love life. When I told him about the Arab’s weird question, he said: “Girl, he just wanted to find out if you were easy. If you’d fucked somebody while married, chances are you’d fuck him even more quickly given that you’re now single”. It depressed the hell out of me to think that all I am to this dude (and all I’ve ever been to a lot of men) is a piece of ass. And the two beers I had drunk at my friend’s house certainly didn’t help my mood. I was incredibly sad by the time I finally left. And, oh, did I mention that I’ve also gone cold-turkey on Zoloft?
I went to the ATM afterwards to pay in some of my ill-gotten gains where, out of the corner of my eye, I could see this skinny, icky, middle-aged white dude. I barely looked at him, but I knew (just knew!) that he was this awful guy I had once fucked when I was still an escort. He is for sure on the list of “Shameful, painful sexual experiences I will never talk about to anybody”. He was putting an envelope into the night deposit, and then he walked to his car, and was about to leave when I pointed at him, and yelled “Hey, you! I know you. Your name’s John!”. I knew I should have let him leave, but the alcohol took away all common sense.
The stupid idiot got out of his car, looking all sheepish and pleased, and came back to the ATM to talk to me. “Yes, that is my name! You look familiar. Do I know you?”. I smiled seductively, and cooed “Yes, you do. Now give me your glasses”. I don’t know what the hell he thought I was doing, but he did actually let me take the glasses, and I walked with them into the parking lot, with him feebly protesting that he was blind without them. I set the timer on my iPhone, and said “You have 60 seconds to remember my name or I’ll smash your glasses”.
He failed the test.
I stomped on his glasses.
And, if this was Hollywood, they would have broken into pieces, and I would have driven off into the sunset to start a new life, and find true love.
But it’s not Hollywood, and they didn’t fucking break. I think I only succeeded in bending them badly.
For someone whose glasses had just been nearly demolished by a deranged, drunk woman in a parking lot, I must say that his reaction was somewhat muted. He said words to the effect of “Well, that wasn’t very nice!”.
“It wasn’t very nice what you did to me either!”, I screamed back, and got into my car and drove off.
I’m sober now, and I actually think this story is kinda humorous, but at the time I felt so depressed, angry and out-of-control. Two guys in one day for whom I’m just a piece of ass. Some forgettable vagina.
I came home, and I just wanted somebody to hug me. But there was nobody. All I got were some text messages from MM, which said that I’m “a demon”, “a fucking monster”, “barely human”.
Some people drink to forget, but when I drink I seem to remember all the bad, nasty, abusive stuff that has happened to me, and I feel like a little girl again – so vulnerable, so in pain. Before meeting the guy at the ATM, I was driving home on the highway and the urge for self-destruction was pretty acute. I was doing 80, and I thought momentarily about just crashing the car on purpose.
Where does all that pain go when I’m not drunk? I feel fine now. I’m sad and lonely but I don’t want to harm myself or other people. Is the pain not real, then? Does the alcohol just create something that’s not really there?