You’re doing what you always do: try to find a flaw, because you are unsure that happiness can exist.
Not always, but sometimes my friends know me pretty well. I do that. I try to break everything good in life down to why it’s probably not going to work out, and then slowly try to self-sabotage whatever joy I think I’m experiencing. I don’t know where that tendency comes from.
I do know, that as quickly as it started, my infatuation may already be over. There’s just something…. off. It’s not that he doesn’t seem nice, and charming, because he does. It’s not that seems disinterested with me, because he doesn’t. It’s like cracks in white paint, and I can see something underneath it. He smiles, he winks, he tells me how lovely I am…. and yet there’s an aggression. It’s a well-hidden aggression. It’s not the over confidence of a man that will hit someone to put them in their place. It’s not the hint of potential evil lurking behind the eyes that Lifetime would have you believe stalkers and serial killers have when they smile at you. I’m not quite sure what it is… It’s just little things…
Maybe it’s because I’m crazy myself, but I notice things other people might brush off. In particular, it’s how rough he can be. To talk to him, he’s a puppy. He’s very agreeable. He’d be happy to do something that makes you smile. He doesn’t judge you for a thing. To bang him, however, is different. It’s not unpleasant, but it does hurt. I’m not opposed to being held down, but I take issue with unsolicited attempts at strangling (although I had a friend a while back that really liked to be asphyxiated during sex). Also, to be just a little graphic, his biggest excitement is impaling me with his over sized member to the point he can see it hurts me. I get this to a point, but usually people find the blood off-putting. More than one previous lover has been too freaked to even finish (because, yes, this whole thing where my vag tears and bleeds and I spend days bent over hugging my abdomen is not uncommon when I’m sexually active… and may or may not contribute to my being asexual).
The Huffington Post wrote an article called 10 Signs Your Man Is A Psychopath. It’s aimed at women, because statistically most psychopaths are men, and it’s a decent article that I think everyone should glimpse through if they start feeling uncertain about someone they’re seeing. Humans have a sense for when something is up. You’ve probably felt it. That guy in the gas station that makes you feel uncomfortable for no reason other than he eyed you a little too long. That moment when you’re walking down a street at night and you think you can feel people behind you. When you meet someone witty, charming, and attractive, just to later find out they are going to ruin your life. People can usually sense mental disturbance. They don’t always pay attention to it, though.
Psychopaths make up 1% of the general population, but that’s not as small of a percentage as you’d think. Also, Sociopaths make up 4% of the population. I should know, because I am one. Sociopaths are like psychopaths, both stemming from the same personality disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder. The difference? The biggest difference is that psychopaths are born, while sociopaths are made. Psychopaths are cold, calculating, but seem charming. They like playing with people without drawing attention to themselves. They can seem quite normal, and you’re not going to trip them up easily. Sociopaths are similar, but they’re erratic and impulsive. A sociopath is less likely to hold down a job for a long period of time, and they often have no plan. Sociopaths, unlike Psychopaths, can sometimes form attachments to people, though it’s quite rare. And sometimes, an erratic, impulsive sociopath can take on the less volatile demeanor of a psychopath, but they’re still operating without a plan.
Now, I’m not saying that this guy is a Psychopath. That would be a ludicrous statement about a person I barely know… but I am saying that crazy can spot crazy. I’m not sure how this is going to all pan out. I’m still feeling it out… and I have no plan, of course… so… I shall keep you updated.
Maybe my friend is right, and I’m just destroying this because I think I’m enjoying it. It’s not unheard of. Maybe I just think I’m better than this blue collar boy, so I’m projecting this onto him as a reason to abandon him. Maybe the back of my brain realizes that with happiness comes the potential for complete destruction, and therefore it’s protecting me from that by tearing him apart. Maybe I just already got bored, and my little black and white brain has thrown him over to the DONE side of the wall, to be picked apart by the vicious parts of my brain just for the amusement. Maybe.
In a world where as much as I hate myself, I’m still better than you…. how is a girl really supposed to know what she’s feeling?