Every so often in my life, I reach a point where the extreme loneliness
of my lifestyle
. I then leap out of my cave
, and become a socially active madman
. I go to club
s, I hang out with old friends
, I throw wild parties
. I usually end up buying lots of beer
, which I free
with my friends and enemies
, in hopes that this simple bribe
will make them like me better (it usually works).
Eventually, a beautiful and enchanting woman will cross my path, and stop me in my tracks. Sometimes, it is someone who is genuinely interested in me as a person. Most of the time, it's someone who knows I'm easy to take advantage of. A woman that fascinates me can get me to do just about anything, if she knows the right way to ask.
I will become absolutely infatuated with this woman. I will spend the majority of my waking hours contemplating the intricacies of her existence. While I am usually a fairly messy person, I will clean the house from head to toe, in fear that this little bit of perfection in my life may be chased away. I will find out what kind of music she likes, and sample a few bands from the genre if I am not familiar with it, choosing a few favorites, so I may discuss the matter with her.
Usually, this ends up scaring the poor girl, which, while not my intention per se, meets my ends properly in the emotional response it triggers. I guess my actions really look like those of a stalker, but I deny any association with them, my cousins in behavior. As soon as the female in question (although it has been a male before, but this is not my standard pattern) gives me any kind of a clue that she does not appreciate my attention (which often takes a while, as they like that I buy them stuff and give them drugs for a while), I will immediately back off and never speak to them again. If I run into them at a social gathering of some variety, I am very good at staying away, not making a scene, and crying heavily on the inside with a smile on my face.
This behavior has nothing to do with them. It is all about my experience in feeling the full spread of emotions, which is always the same. Loneliness turns into despair, sometimes dipping into desperation, then rising up with hope, which opens me to faith, making me vulnerable to obsession, occasionaly to the extent of worship. That being the peak, it drops back down, going from frustration, to the fiery torture of rejection, which spawns a festering pool of self-pity, self-disgust, hatred, isolation, and worthlessness. I wallow in this for a while, seldom leaving my room or talking to anybody, and then I prepare to repeat the cycle again when the loneliness gets to be too much.
That is me. That is why I do it. I am fully conscious of all of this as it goes along, but I am addicted, and I cannot stop without divine intervention of some sort.