Dating

Dating

We end up doing what our parents show us, not what our parents tell us.  If you live or have lived with the problems of alcohol in your house as a child, you may not know how you try to rescue people, confusing that with love.  I look forward to loving a woman I’m not rescuing someday.

We confuse love and pity and tend to “love” people we can “pity” and “rescue.”  -Adult Children of Alcoholics, Laundry List.

The single best birth control for men is paying way more child support than your state requires and not being able to see your child and losing all your custody rights when you’ve done nothing wrong.  I was paying so much child support that with a piece of paper filed in federal court and another piece of paper showing what a county court forced me to pay for years, I was forced into bankruptcy.  That’s right men, you too can pay so much child support it will force you to declare bankruptcy.  For all you naive men out there, you’ve been warned how dangerous lawyers daughters are.

I might date again, but I will be saying no to a ton of women as most women I now see clearly as alcoholics, and spending addicts.  No addict will ever cross the threshold of my front door again, which unfortunately includes all my immediate family.

At some point I would like to date a woman, and if you’ve read this far, are a woman, or know a woman to introduce me to, please email me.  If she likes bicycling, hiking, home cooked meals (I cook), reading, video games, and isn’t into addiction very much, I’d like to meet you/her.  Thanks.  Otherwise I love my job, life, daughter, and that’s enough for now and has been for years.

If I could ever raise more children I’d be very excited about that.  I’m very healthy, tall, calm, caring and loving and if a non-addict lives with me I’m sure we could make a great family.  I’m ok with religious types now that I found Al-Anon.  Before Al-Anon I was an atheist, because what god would put a child in my parents home!!!???.

I remember one woman I dated actually got a little upset with me when I offered to buy her food and bring it to her house from several different restaurants (not fast food), and in hindsight she was angry because the restaurants were not expensive enough for her entitlement tastes.  When she got upset with me and said “why were those her only options,” all I could think about was growing up hungry and my single parent going to the food bank for food for us. And here I found myself dating a women who would dictate to buying expensive food, driving to pick it up, and she says no?  MHA women tie their self-worth to how expensive food is. MHA is a Millionaire Heroin Addict.  Dating kids of millionaires is a really good way to have a woman treat you like shit.  Get ready for her to cheat on you because she feels like it.  Several MHA’s have done that with me in the last two decades.  It might be in their genetics.

My father drank himself to death, dying of liver cancer when I was 11.  I remember him taking me AA meetings.  I’d sit outside with his dog, patty paws in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho.  I can count on one hand the number of memories I have of my father.  It was only in my early 30’s I figured out it was AA meetings he took me to and left me on the sidewalk outside of… I walked across the AA building, recognized the sidewalk and brick wall, then looked up and saw Alcoholics Anonymous.  So much about this program requires anonymity, but having buried my dead drunk dad over a quarter century ago empowers me to say FUCK THAT!  I grew up poor as shit because my dad choose the bottle instead of his son.  So I WILL talk about AA, Alcoholics Anonymous, and drug addicts, all I want.  Fuck off!  If you want to censor me.  My dad would just leave me on the sidewalk during his meetings?  That made me seek out women who would treat me like shit, like my papa treated me.  I was so young!  He and my mom divorced when I was only a few years old.  He barely saw me until he was dying in the hospital.  I won’t forget the color yellow of his skin as he died.  I have some of his ashes and sometimes visit the tree at the hospital and his stone with his name, planted at the hospital.  His ashes, as he requested, are spread in three places where I put them myself.  On the Great Divide, and in rivers on both sides of it.  I can drive an hour to one location I spread him from my house in Helena.  How weird?!?!  That was 1992.  Those decades with just a brain injured mom has lead to my ruin.  Growing up without a father is a big problem!

I was born out of the Florence nightingale effect.  This is when the care giver falls in love with the patient.  A separate story not worth sharing here is when my nurse fell in love with me while I recovered in the military from a life threatening vehicle accident which broke my leg bones into many pieces.  So I know it happens.  But that story is for another time.  Back to my parents.

Two years before I was born my mother slipped in a college pond, drained but full of pond scum.  It was night.  Her subdural hematoma should have killed her and after hospital discharge in the town she was finishing her masters degree in architecture, she found my dad.  He was a carpenter fixing up mansions near campus with his carpenter buddy.  My mom rented a room and they eventually moved in together and lived together for five years reaching into the Pacific northwest.  I was born in the middle of that and my dad was a drinker the whole time.  He flirted with my baby sitters according to my mom.  Besides knocking up my mom I’m not thankful to my dad for much.  He died so poor I only inherited a wool blanket and a thick silver ring from him.  we sold his crappy pickup for food.  

Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBI) are a real thing.  I grew up with a mom who has a bad one.  My mom’s behavior mimics a drunk, or continuous use herion addict.  memory all fucked up!  So I found similar friends attractive subconciously.  When I couldn’t find a good heroin addict, an alcoholic would do.  My mom never demonstrated self-care, self-reflection, literally talks to herself until she falls asleep, and never saved a penny.  I remember growing up telling her I do the opposite of what she does.  I’ve learned what I learned doing the opposite of my only living parent.  The two things she knew before her head injury are all she can do being architecture and piano.  She talks to herself constantly which I’ve seen people get truly scared seeing for the first time.  Have you spent time in a room around someone who won’t stop talking to themselves?  I grew up with that shit!  I’ve still yet to be truly scared by anyone because my mother deeply scared the holy living shit out of me.  Because my childhood had me around such shitbag parents, I felt right at home and would always quickly befriend people with few if any friends.  Only now with Al-Anon can I reflect on why.  I could quickly befriend shitty people because they were what I’d always handled, and because they had few friends, I could quickly become part of their inner circle.  I’ve deleted all their electronic details and thrown away all their junk and look forward to forgetting every last piece of shit one of them.

When I finally could attract women to date with my own resources, and my mother could not interfere, my pattern was to rescue women with serious alcohol, drug, spending, gambling addictions.  Or any self destructive behavior, I could rescue from responsibility.  I grew up being the parent to my parent so I’d parent my friends.  help them through hangovers.  tell them it’s all right when they vomit on me.  But!  Never again Boy!  NEVER AGAIN!!!!  I cheered up girlfriends like I cheered up my mom and boy did girlfriends appear happy!  I may have been the first man they met who’d carry them through shit they should do themselves, and their problems were solved by me with a smile.  until I couldn’t take their drunk behavior anymore.   I supported (Enabled), them.  My mom is high on pot or drinks wine daily.  Clearly I was destined to find people with brain chemistry imbalances attractive.  One key detail was these women were SO dam plentiful.  Anywhere I lived I could quickly date such a woman.  Hmmm.  I wonder why…?  Maybe they were available because no man in his right mind would date them…

Back to my mom for one last detail.  Her dad raised her until her 18th birthday in mansions around the world as a diplomats daughter.  My mom grew up with servants.  I remember hearing moms stories of mansions with servants while being excited about cheese day from the local food bank, broke as fuck!  My moms siblings got paid at the dinner table for good manners. I never could relate but hearing about such wealth while dirt fucking poor made me gravitate to similarly spoiled girlfriends.

Perseveration is constant with her.  Money is a problem too and her constant excuse when she always lost all our families money (just a widowed mother and her only child son), her excuse was that she never had to handle money so couldn’t be held responsible when she spent it unwisely.

Back to my disclaimer now and women I dated.  I still remember Anna and Coreen.  The last two women I dated who didn’t have serious addiction problems.  Anna my sophomore year in high school and Coreen my Junior year.  Anna was friends with Coreen but left the states the next year as her rich family moved back to Germany.  Both these women were GORGEOUS.  They did sports like soccer, track, cross country, didn’t smoke, or do drugs, had great marks in school.  Sometimes they’d have a beer or something but never to excess.  Their memory still lives in my heart now as I type and it was 23 to 24 years ago I dated them.

Late in my Junior year I started hanging out with the wrong crowd.  I started dating a woman who smoked cigarettes and I’ll never forget vomiting from the nausea of inhaling second hand smoke.  But I was loyal and wouldn’t budge and kept dating this bad element.  I’ve seen her twenty years later and she’s miserable and complains all the time.  Since her, in 1997, until today I’ve gravitated unconsciously to addicts for dating.  It’s quite sad except for the one upside being now I can spot addicts right away, and quickly defend myself by never offering help to them.  Their poor me victimization stories used to pull me in like a fish on a hook.  I can finally save myself from a self inflicted doom of being a people pleaser, rescuer.  I used to be altruistic to a fault.  I would overly offer help to everyone I met so much so that only a wealthy addict woman who’d never had a responsibility in their life appealed to me to date.  I found my mold.  I made myself the kind of man who kept addict women happy.  I kept quiet the fact that it destroyed my time, savings and reputation because that was how I was raised.  I was used to the silent brooding as I was torn to shreds.  Thanks Mom!

I’ve had this reoccurring drama play out each time dating a new women, including that first cigarette smoker.  Only in hindsight now can I apply a metaphor and share.  I have finally grown out of this.  It goes like this.  I meet a new women, the people around (friends and family), crowd in and shower us with attention.  I used to think it was loving attention but since realized it was the kind of attention you see a crowd show as an EMT helps a car accident victim, or a fireman suited up runs into a burning building.  Up until now I hope my brief historical description of where I came from shows I had no choice but to be this EMT or firefighter because I was shown this role by my mom, who I trusted to raise me.  We do as we’re shown.

So this EMT is hunched over an injured person, like my dad saving my mom, and a crowd gathers.  The crowd is hushed, mostly, yet comments here and there like applause when I perform some life saving act.  The drama goes on with the victim causing me to continually refocus on them.  Bailing them out of jail or replacing their bathroom from flooding.  Savior Dave!  The woman rescuer!  Everyone huddles in then gasps and cheers as I do things for others they should do for themselves.  I’d found my leading role and I repeated it over and over until it nearly ruined me.  I’ve literally done this so much that in retrospect I can see that some gasps from parents, or friends weren’t the kind of good gasps.  It was more like gasps of what the FUCK are you doing Dave?  What are you thinking Dave?  Oh, it’s subconscious, Dave is NOT thinking.  He’s doing what his mom showed him.  Like a man jumping in an icy river after a puppy and they both drown.  Gasps from the crowd are more like, “What the fuck are you doing?!”, than commendations.  I only learned how to destroy myself over and over for my brain injured mother, so found people I could continue rescuing.

I grew up dirt poor and one woman who dumped me like 5 times and I kept crawling back to her like a little lost lamb made fun of me with her last emails, condescendingly pointing out her families millionaire status to my food stamp life by saying she knows how important my possessions are and she will return them.  She dumped me long ago and slept with several men since dumping me.  One of those men contacted me and explained it all to me.  Which isn’t uncommon in my life.  This woman didn’t email me to return my things.  She emailed me to cast her guilt hook seeing if I’d bite, saying, “Sorry it didn’t work out between us.”  She emailed me because the last two boyfriends couldn’t afford her anymore.  She reached out to Rescuer Dave!  Maybe the fifth or whatever time Rescuer Dave would show up on his magic horse and whisk away her emotional problems by doing her responsibilities for her so she can conk back out into blissful states from drugs, alcohol and sex addiction.  How many times can you be dumped?  I stopped crying when she dumped me a few times ago, which is a very bad sign but she kept casting that hook and I’d take the bait.  Maybe Dave could shovel more cash her way for restaurants, vacations, alcohol and drugs.  Guilt and sex appeal made me stupid, but no longer.  Her parents give her everything and still she and her entourage of drugged out delusionals made first world problems sounds like real problems.  No shortage of work for me to do there!  The only thing to do was walk away and not look back.  I’ve been only attracted to the most wealthy, least capable, sexy women, over and over.  That was my pattern.

My mother and my kids mom according to everyone who met them both are identical.  Thanks mom, I found one just like ya!  That personality type is so repulsive, like two negative charged magnets, it repels ones like it, but likes very much a positively charged passive man who is a born rescuer.

I live 300 miles away from my mom and she still shows up sometimes uninvited which I recently had to tell her she will be shown off my property by the cops the next time she shows up.

The very worst humans are the ones who due to addiction or brain injuries can’t learn from their mistakes and can’t see their part in disasters pointing fingers everywhere but at themselves.  They always point their finger at others, unable to change.

I look forward to dating my first healthy woman in 2.5 decades but I’m also not looking because I’ve neglected my own needs for that time and have lots of shit I’ve neglected to do.

Instead of relaying a lot of details of abhorrent scenes.  I’ll just end this page by saying I now go to open meetings for recovering addicts in my town to listen to them.  The stories of addicts as they describe their worst years, matches up to what my mother demonstrated for me.  I go because one day I will be able to forgive my mother, and the mother of my daughter, and myself for all those decades and hundreds of thousands of dollars wasted on addicts who don’t remember what happened if you pressed them for details.

I scribbled the following down today and thought it summed up dating quite well.  The addicts in my life found ways to blame me.  My default response use to be groveling, crawling back to my addict, apologizing when they could blame me for their problems.

This was due to my mom blaming me for all the men she fucked and all the times she moved us to the next mans house who she was fucking…

It finally doesn’t make sense to grovel and apologize to addict girlfriends.  I also used to pander to guy friends who daily got shitty drunk on alcohol.  Being forced to apologize to my mother about shit choices she made, made addicts or drunks who blamed me as an adult felt like my childhood.

The more addiction and self control problems a person had… the more I felt attracted to them.  After all I’d ground myself to powder for my brain injured mother, so why not look around for what I’m already good at… helping those who won’t help themselves was like my upbringing.

Heroin tracks on both arms and between both toes?…  Great!

Alcohol use common before sex?…  Great!

You can’t stop crashing your vehicle?  Great!

You don’t even get credit card offers your credit score is so low?  Great!

Let me just ignore the obvious signs of a fucked up human being, and just instead start helping them…

An addicts inability to face their parent and admit addiction problems was the strongest magnet to pull in rescuer Dave!

I currently stop myself when someone presents their self pity story or lack of self control story.  Lots of power available ceasing to help for people like me.  There’s no end to how much help the world needs.  I can say for sure a higher power is intertwined with who I chose to date.  Growing up fatherless with a black hole mother made me question if a god would let me suffer so much.  When I got older I really loved the atheist drug addict women.  You can always find an atheist drug or alcohol addict.

I constantly pushed away healthy people because I’d never grown up with them, unaware how to have healthy friendships.  I don’t know how to have a friendship with a healthy person.  I am hopeful finally avoiding my old patterns.  I’m learning quickly what a healthy friendship feels like.  Unfortunately I have a vast landscape of addicts I’m slowly walking away from.  They seem to keep contacting me and I ignore them.  The self pitying addict finally repulses me.  My old pattern was going back and forth from one persons crisis to the next.  I’ve never lived in one place so long as I do now and the result was a girlfriend I got back together with five times.  I won’t ever punish myself this way like a yoyo on a woman’s finger.  Seeing my pattern helps so much.  You folks out there who got to view two parents are so dam LUCKY!

If you’ve at least seen one or possibly two parents perform basic self care and it rubbed off on you, I wish you could grasp how lucky you are.  Those of us born to parents who are children themselves, makes the real child have to begin raising their parent, apologizing for their parent from a young age, grow up with a void mentally when we grow up and our romantic partners asks us to respond in a healthy manner.

I’m finally doing really well but it’s just incredible looking back on two decades of only friending the most fucked up people.