Out of the Wilderness.

Hello again.  I’ve been preoccupied and distracted.  Busy.  I wish I could tell you that my life was improving.  Well, on paper it is… I’m going back to college and I’m doing okay.  Alas, on the psychosocial front I am dissolving.  It has been a foray into the wilderness of humanity.  Dating unsuccessfully, meeting loads of new people and not making any friends.  I have been chemically prevented from anything like serious disdain or regret but lately… I’ve been more circumspect.  As I think about my experiences I am reminded of “As Good As It Gets” with Jack Nicholson.  Wherein his character, who has psychosocial issues comes to the realization that maybe “this is as good as it gets”.  The more I think about that, the less hopeful I become.

I feel lonely so I reach out.  It starts out fine.  Then a joke is told, usually followed by some confusion or misunderstanding and it all goes south rather quickly.  What was supposed to be funny becomes a serious discussion and then degenerates into an argument.  You can’t say anything nice about yourself without people getting extremely precious about it.  Whether it is true and you are simply stating a virtue or it is a joke and you don’t actually mean it at all.  It just turns into a tragedy and every bit of hope that you had for having a nice easy happy social life goes completely to shit.

I like people less and less.  I like myself less and less.  I become introspective about the entire thing and the suicidal ideation that hasn’t been a part of my life for so long starts creeping back in.  COmpletely welcomed like an old friend.  Why bother?  You try to be nice, it starts a fight, you try to be defensive and keep people at arm’s length and it becomes an argument.  Dating is a mixed bag of solipsistic and shallow women and meaningless encounters that range from indifference to casual sex.  Nothing lasting or progressive.  I’m an odd virus in a petri dish.  Nothing else can exist in this space without corruption by or with me.  I either devour it, or it is so hallow that I simply spread right through it, obliterate it completely.

So, without love… Without support or close ties, friendships or lovers, what exactly is the point?  If this is as good as it gets, why carry on?  I cannot be cured, I cannot live a healthy balanced and normal productive life, so why live?  I’m not feeling sorry for myself.  I genuinely want to know.  How can I find meaning in this wilderness.  What is my purpose?  To continually attempt to have a better life that I am utterly incapable of maintaining, only to fail repeatedly and simply be frustrated…?

I don’t want that.  Every single street has a one way sign…


The Bitter Poisonous End

So everyone is clear on the definition of love, love is when two people see everything about the other, the nasty parts as well as the good parts and instead of running the other way they think, we can work with one another on those nasty parts.  We can work together to sort those out and in so doing we can become one whole perfect unit.  This only works if both parties consistently show up and get to work.

The woman with whom I was most recently involved, Kali was my soulmate.  We saw one another for exactly what we both were.  Both flawed, both bipolar.  It was a beautiful union.  I am still very in love with her, I always will be.  She is physically, intellectually and socially perfect for me in every way.  Emotionally she is so damaged that she can’t allow herself to be loved properly.

Before the Christmas holidays of 2015 she would send me cute messages of her own volition, send me pictures, cute and sexy.  She would tell me how handsome I was and how excited she was to see me, how much she missed me and couldn’t wait to see me and talk to me.  During the holidays I had difficulty making contact with her though I dismissed this with her excuses that the holidays are a busy time.  She texted rarely with apologies and maybe a picture.  Perhaps a promise that she would try to call later.

She returned after two weeks of this and I thought okay, things will get back to normal.  She loves me so much she will try to call me on the phone just to hear my voice.  She will still send me pictures everyday.  Without me having to text her first she will surprise me with texts just to tell me how great I am and how much she loves me.  This might have happened about three times tops.  I started putting in all of the work.  She would reply positively, but fewer pictures if any and no uninitiated texts at all.

At this point it is very evident that you are clearly and totally not on someones mind.  She claimed to be upset and depressed which I accepted and was concerned about alas, there is only so much anyone can do through texts to legitimately help in these situations.  So I began to probe around the idea that she call me.  After our phone calls she always felt so much better for having heard my voice and knowing that she wasn’t alone.  I would say sweet and wonderful things with a voice and tone that she normally loved and it would all be a little better at least.  Except she now resisted this.  Despite admitting that this might help she flat out did not accept taking any part in trying to make it actually happen in any way.  FUCK NO, was she going to try to do this even in the slightest.

Her love for me was dying, obviously.  When a woman’s heart goes it’s gone.  This I have learned.  You can do nothing to prevent it, though you try like a desperate fool in vain because as a man, you are bound to fight for a love you have in so short a time learned not to live without.  Women truly do not need men.  Men desperately need women.  So I fought, which only made matters worse.  I tried all the soothing things I possibly could and made myself a door mat for her.  This obviously didn’t work.  Why would it?  Why would having an attractive, capable, kind, loving, caring, intelligent, thoughtful, considerate, sexually perfect for you and completely smitten man at your disposal please you?  It wouldn’t.

I tried all the nice things I could and then I challenged her.  I started being a little bit vicious on those points that I knew that she was being weak.  Which, rather than motivating her only made her flat-out hate me.  I have always suspected that there are things that she has withheld from me, not outright lies per se, more like lies of omission.  I challenged her on this which upset her worse.  I challenged her on her unwillingness and fear to put her foot down and take control of her own life in the face of her oppressor, calling her a coward in the process.  I feel terrible about this though the goal was to motivate her to actually DO ANYTHING about it she only decided to turn it back on me as rage and hatred.

None of the above matters.  Not a bit.  There are really only a few points that actually matter.  She stopped loving me some time around Christmas and I have been fighting desperately for us, but seeing as I am the only one fighting there really is no us.

I don’t blame her for not loving me, I blame her for continuing to say the words, for claiming still that she loves me when it is plain to see that through her actions and behaviour there is no love left in her.  She is only herself with no space nor interest in anyone else.  I feel sorry for her.  I genuinely pity the fuck out of her because from here in her life she will have to find someone else who isn’t nearly as good as me or stay with the clown she lives with who is abusive.  Who she also shares no love with.  She had a perfectly good lily pad to leap to and instead she shat all over it and is now totally uncertain of her future.  All she had to do was keep loving the man who loves her more than life itself.

You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink as they say.  I can’t make her love me and I can see that she clearly has no intention of pretending even for her own sake, which is actually for the best.  I don’t want to get suckered into it now.  The good news is now I am fully aware and free to move on.  No guilt and no urge to turn back.  She had her chance, if she were to have a change in heart now I know that I couldn’t possibly trust it after months of neglect.  It really bothers me though, that act of burning a bridge while you are standing on it… Her love was so great and wonderful while it lasted, I was certain we would be together forever and then she just shot it in the face.  For no reason.  I’m going to have a Kali shaped hole in my heart for the rest of my life over a few months that were mostly unrequited… It’s a horrible monstrosity. A tragedy.  Part of me wants to die and another just desperately hopes I can find anything like her anywhere else…

Dead Inside

My emotions have taken a beating in the last little while.  The woman I love has become an uncertainty in my life and this simply destroys me.  I genuinely love her.  More than anything.  I want nothing else in this world than to be with her always.  Yet, after months of receding texts and pictures, no visits nor phone calls of any kind… she seems to have turtled completely.

I’m not saying that it’s over, but it doesn’t look good and I am distraught.  I don’t have what it takes right now to deal with something like this.  I don’t know if I will recover from this.  I don’t know if after all of this neglect I will be able to see her the same.  I feel like you can’t care about someone and treat them this way.  So, this is causing me harm.  It is doing damage.  Damage from which I’m afraid there is no healing.

I don’t want the woman of my dreams to become something I resent because she has totally failed to provide me with any kind of relationship.  I don’t want to look at her as selfish and cruel.  I don’t want these to be the surviving traits that come through this storm.  Because if they are then there was no sense in weathering it to begin with.  I want to girl who genuinely thought about me.  I want the girl who loves my everything.  Who sends me cute pictures.  Who doesn’t withhold things from me or flat out lie to me.  Alas, this woman is slowly disappearing and I am left with nothing but the dream of her.

I have been very depressed and I think she has been as well.  Yet this is no excuse to treat one another poorly.  I am always kind to her, I always think of her.  She never thinks of me, never texts unless I have first.  I feel more and more that this relationship is one sided and as I do despite the love that I feel I am angry.  Not so much with her but myself because I know I deserve better.  She wanted me because I was so considerate, yet totally fails to earn that.  She takes me for granted and neglects me completely.

So.  I guess I have to pull the trigger on another one.  My heart really can’t take it.  I can’t help but feel like this was the goal all along.  I just wish she had been a better person about it and had simply let me go rather than waste my time, my hopes and emotions.  Now I’m going to be hurt for a good long while and I won’t be able to be with anyone.  At this point even if it could get better, if an improved version was offered I don’t know that I could take it… I love her more than anything but I doubt that it will get better and even if it was it will always go back to shitty.  Now that I know she genuinely doesn’t give a shit I will always know that.  It will always end up right back here.  So why fucking bother?

I don’t know why I do this to myself.  I meet women who seem so great and then they just abuse the shit out of my good nature.  Which is why I’m a total asshole most of the time because I don’t want anyone to get close like this and do shit like this to me.  To exploit my empathy and care and then just fucking ditch me.  I’ve gotten nothing from this relationship.  Nothing.  I can’t even get her to call me!!!  If you love someone this isn’t even a thought.  This isn’t something that you ever consider NOT doing.  So yeah, the more I write about how so totally fucking horribly shitty this whole fucked up deal has been for me, the more angry I get.  I don’t want to hate her completely so I have to stop writing.

The question is, when I go do I fucking torch the shit out of the bridge or not…?


Dark Side of the Moon.

I’ve made references to being on the “dark side of the moon” in the past.  It comes full circle.  For me it almost always does.  It is a place only the mentally infirm will know.  I know many do not view bipolar as “insanity” in the traditional sense.  Talking to ourselves, being paranoid or distrustful.  Making delusion assertions or hysteria.  No, for the most part we bipolar types fly under the radar.  We are primarily acceptable.  Until we aren’t.  In those moments when we are not it isn’t evident that we are suffering from an illness.  I’ve said things of this nature in the past but I will reiterate: our mood disorder and the behaviours that accompany it are attributed by onlookers as personality traits.  Even when they are aware of your disorder.  Sometimes they become hostile especially because of it.  Like, don’t you know any better?  As though mid-episode you can snap out of it merely by focusing on the fact that it is happening…

Human beings are small.  Despite having the largest brains and being the most intelligent species we are on average super-stupid.  My estimated IQ is half again what is considered average.  This is no boast, it is actually a curse.  Things that are mundane to me are super challenging or do not even register for the average person.  Even in attempting to explain it to them in very carefully chosen, simplified language I still think that most of the time I am misunderstood.  People who believe that in marching for equality that property damage is in some way acceptable or will not in any way hinder or override their cause…  Protesting in general.  Pointless.  A show of force is only good for one thing.  War.  If you are not prepared to fight, the side that is will win.  People still do not get this.  I digress.

Between ignorance, emotions and plain stupidity I find myself in a very unique place.  A kind of loneliness that few will ever comprehend.  For unless you have a mood disorder or have dealt with one long enough to truly understand it, are of above average intelligence and will not take anything I say as an immediate affront, you and I will probably not get along.  I know, it seems like I pity myself.  There are times where I do.  There are times where I miss being the center of attention.  I used to have hypomanic episodes that placed me in party mode and made me indispensable.  Now there is a part of me that no longer really tries because I recognize the value in my separation from everyone else.  Social media is still an issue…

Back to the Dark Side of the Moon.  This is the place that I reside.  Like many of my ilk.  I knew the song “Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd off of the album “Dark Side of the Moon” since before I could talk.  Only recently did it enter my thoughts due to my current mind state.  I went over the lyrics as I recalled them.  Sure enough it struck me… the song was about Syd Barrett.  It has themes of loss of sanity, well clearly the word “lunatic” is used frequently.  Moreover however is the lyric: “I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon” which is Roger Waters essentially admitting that he feels that sooner or later he is bound to join Barrett in his psychological state.

There we are, standing off the path, on the grass.  When everyone else is happily strolling along on the path as intended.  You find yourself playing music, yet the people in the band are all playing a different song than you are.  You are the odd one out, you don’t know the melody and no matter how you try to play along your song isn’t the same.  Like Syd Barrett you stand on stage with a band you’ve been playing with for years and mid song you find yourself launching into a completely different one.  Eventually you simply wander away.  You are no longer a member of any band.  You fade away and you find yourself alone.  On the dark side of the moon, as nobody hears from you in years.  Moreover, nobody is really looking for you all that hard.  You do not get invitations.  Christmas cards are a laughable concept.

So you dig a well.  You sit at the bottom.  You die inside.  The few voices that break through into this void you have created tell you not to give up.  You have no clue why.  If there was any need of you the phone would ring.  Isn’t it simply easier in the long run?  Just to fill the well with water?  Or concrete?

February is the worst thing that can possibly happen to me.

Triptych Pastiche.

The title will support the theme of this article and were I half the writer I believe myself to be I would actually make of it as such.  Though I am a finely crafted mimic, a recurrent undertone in the homily that is my life’s tale, I am only that and nothing more.  However… As a pastiche one can be renewed as unique, sublime, original and divine, for this is upon which I have been mired for so long.  It is possible to pay homage to multiple things and thus be set apart as something wholly individual.  To be defined, whilst still tipping ones hat at those from which it draws its characteristics.

Contrary to what I had originally believed to be true, I am really rather well defined in three parts:

There is Jack McBastard, the interloper.  The unwelcome rogue.  An agent of chaos, he brings to the table a litany of useful tricks and characteristics.  Even though the result may invariably be ruin and carnage he is an agent nonetheless.  An agent provocateur.  The mad keeper of the gates to Mania.

Dysphorian Alpha, the future self that I strive for always.  A partially built, megalithic construct assembled from the parts of great men that I admire.  He is found in my visage as it is the simplest part of myself to shape.  The finest shave, a collection of eau de toilette, finery and positive charms.  Socially acceptable at my best behaviours and always upbeat.  I find him in my genuine confidence, my lack of fear or need for competition as these things suggest loss of control or rivalry.  Alpha is peerless, yet humble, his confidence dictates that he has no need of displays.  He is rarer than the other two as he is the final stage of my metamorphosis.

Then there is Dysphorian the curator.  My present and evolving regular self.  The glue and stitches holding together the poorly grafted frankenpersonality.  The man who plays between these two diametric titans and is torn asunder from the fray.  When they clash, he is crushed between them.  When they dash in opposite directions, he is drawn and quartered.  This is the character that everyone sees.

As I have stated in the past, there used to be confusion with regards to bipolars and whether or not they were multiple personality.  It is easy to understand, we aren’t multiple personalities, we are several personalities attempting to be one.  He is the curator, the keeper of the characteristics and traits.  Perpetually under the weight of the opposite poles and far behind schedule.  Always playing catch-up.

With regards to Kali… I have been the ass.  I have been playing catch-up between these two and finding myself much needier than I should.  I have been impatient and moody and there has been no need of it.  Things aren’t going to be like a newlywed’s honeymoon everyday.  That is the matter of going through life without being in control of our own circumstances as of yet… That can be expected.  I am merely going to do my best to keep the romance alive and not worry so much if she isn’t always available at every moment.  I knew, and know, that this is an unrealistic expectation.  I should know better than to push so hard when there is nowhere to push to, that is exactly how pressure is made and nobody likes pressure.

I love her.  I can never lose her.



I was always a very honest person growing up and to this day have traits that are deeply biased in favour of being totally and completely open.  I am quite literally an open book.  When I make mistakes I often admit to them, often to my own detriment.  I don’t know so much that it is out of guilt, I’m not so sure that I understand guilt completely.  But even when I was taken advantage of in a very drunken state (read raped) I eventually had to own up to my then girlfriend because I felt it was right.  It took me some time and I hadn’t realized that technically I had given no consent nor would I had I been sober.  It destroyed that relationship.  At least I was honest, I guess it’s a small victory in some strange way.  A little brass medal that I got to pin on myself as a consolation.

As I have aged the veneer is peeling and flaking.  I am becoming less honest.  I haven’t even been fully honest in this blog which is anonymous.  Mostly on the off chance that someone connects me to my various sins and crimes.  I am not what you would call a decent man.  I represent a litany of vices in an unabashed display of hedonism and excess, despite being on the lower rung of society.  Afforded mostly by my charm, wit  and good looks, coupled with having nothing to be responsible for and therefore the maximum amount of disposable income.  I am Dorian Gray only without the wealth and no real need of it.  So my blog has come full circle.

Recently it has dawned on me that my condition might be a tad more complicated than I had realized.  I may well also have dipped into the category of antisocial personality disorder.  In addition to never having been affected by the death of humans and being openly disdainful of efforts to save people in third world countries I have a myriad of other similarities to the illness.  Most can be explained by bipolar as they are the same symptoms, however I may be suffering from a crossover or falling somewhere between them.
Risk factors for ASPD that I share:

  • Family history of antisocial personality disorder or other personality disorders or mental illness
  • Being subjected to verbal, physical or sexual abuse during childhood
  • Unstable or chaotic family life during childhood
  • Loss of parents through traumatic divorce during childhood
  • History of substance abuse in parents or other family members

Which happens to be all but one.  The symptoms that I exhibit are as follows:

  • Disregard for right and wrong  (I live my life as I see fit, I know that drugs and prostitution are illegal but that doesn’t stop me from occasionally enjoying them, I have a moral ambiguity)
  • Using charm or wit to manipulate others for personal gain or for sheer personal pleasure (I have been unfaithful in relationships and not been honest about it, I have mislead people)
  • Intense egocentrism, sense of superiority and exhibitionism (Um, duh!)
  • Recurring difficulties with the law (I don’t suffer from this but I have dealt with the law more than the average honest citizen I think)
  • Hostility, significant irritability, agitation, impulsiveness, aggression or violence (agitation, irritation and impulsiveness overlap with bipolar)
  • Lack of empathy for others and lack of remorse about harming others (any harm I may have ever done I can justify, I never feel guilty)
  • Unnecessary risk-taking or dangerous behaviors (overlap with bipolar)
  • Poor or abusive relationships (not abusive but poor indeed)
  • Failure to learn from the negative consequences of behavior (I will count this one, not because I don’t learn but that I don’t learn what people expect me to)

I never established a real emotional link with my mother which persists to this day.  My dealings with her are merely out of a sense of duty and obligation.  My stepmother was abusive and my father, despite having an initially positive relationship was never present.  He was at work, winding down or sleeping.  I do not blame him for this in any way.  I actually really do have a fondness for him, we are rather similar.

I think I was brushing up against this issue in this post.  I am slowly becoming disconnected from humanity and where once I had empathy for the individual I now have instead a top-down apathetic view of humans as a whole species.  I wish to preserve them which so often goes against what they consider “right”.  I suppose you would call this “Playing God” within my own mind.  Example:  People see the starving and dejected people of Africa and they are motivated to help so they send aid.  Or they volunteer to go assist themselves.  In my mind I see an entire continent of people that should be allowed to die down to a sustainable number.  Why should first world peoples invest in the lives of third world peoples who may get food and water?  Sure, but they will be without education and jobs.  Then you have to give them that too.  You are creating a cycle of dependency.  They only learn that strange foreign people will come and rescue them.  Except we aren’t really, because we stole their resources to begin with, we keep them impoverished and dejected by sneaking everything out of their continent without their notice nor consent.  We sell their gold/oil/trees for our profit and send back pennies for wells.  So why bother?  Let them die.  Eventually maybe there will only be as many people as they can actually feed.  Even if you manage to feed, clothe, house and educate these people, then what?  Religions will get them.  Or superstitions.  They still burn gays and witches.  No joke.  So why do you  think that you are doing any “good”?  The one that maybe gets all these benefits and survives it all more than likely will never be useful to the rest of civilized society in any way at all.  Oh sure, s/he will come to the western world and maybe get funded on a full ride for college.  But all they will do with it is start another charity in order to “help” their former countrymen.  Or, they will compete in a job market that already had enough first world people to begin with.

Let people die, sometimes it is the right thing to do.  Death is natural and there is no shortage of people on the planet.  In fact we are experiencing the opposite.  We have too many and our resources are being mishandled.  People starve and die in the west too.  As a species we are doing terrible and I personally loathe us.  Especially the misguided assholes who think they are actually doing “good works”.  You want to do good works?  Become a horse doctor for people.  No, actually it would be too humane to put them out of their misery.  Let them suffer to death and save the ammunition.  Why spend money when time will do the trick?  Africa is a living eugenics experiment and black people are losing.  I pity them, sort of…
If you don’t care enough about the collective survival of your entire people to band together and save yourselves, why should anyone else?  Why should other successful peoples be forced to pick up the tab for a failed people?  Like aboriginals.  And you’ll say: “But whites did that to both of them.”  Only because we were more advanced first.  Had their failed peoples had guns, ships and the wherewithal to employ biological warfare, white people would be on the losing side.  I see no reason to be compelled to help, to change anything nor to feel guilty about it.

Asians and caucasians are successful, hispanics are doing quite well for themselves.  Middle-eastern and black people are doomed to failure so their last ditch effort is to interbreed.  Which I fully support.  They have traits that are desirable.  You’ll probably say: “But when black people breed with other races the baby comes out black.”  Sure, the first time.  But then breed that one with another white or asian, and so on for generations and all you have left is nappi hair.  Look at Sicilians.

I think the solution is interracial breeding and a live and let die philosophy.  If everyone bred with someone who was not recognizable as their own race, races would be gone in three generations.  So, I feel as though I have nothing left to invest in my species.  I put my money where my mouth is: noting my mental illness I got a vasectomy.

As for diagnosis it is noted that because of many overlapping traits with other personality disorders a key distinction is as follows: “Someone with antisocial personality disorder is likely to have an accurate — sometimes superior — understanding of others’ thinking with little awareness or regard for their feelings. This leads the person to act out and make other people miserable — with no feeling of remorse.” I do have issues with this.  I take social cues in order to gauge feelings because I am not stupid but as for understanding the cause of them and whatever part I have in controlling them is, I am inept.

So now I wonder, am I bipolar?  Or a sociopath?

Is it possible to be something in between?

I have as many traits in one as I have in the other.  Which is damn near close to all of them in both cases.

What am I?


Wedding Smashers

A part of having been who I am my whole life is that I have behavioural habits.  Some of these are extremely difficult to control, especially when drinking.  Most are innocuous.  Though some, while seemingly innocuous are in fact quite the contrary.  The following is an example of which that leads to a series of rolling failures of which only really very few are mine.  Jack McBastard doesn’t play well with others at times, especially when women and alcohol are involved.

It begins at a wedding.  I love weddings, I like drinking, I like dancing, I enjoy company and laughter.  I also adore love hungry bridesmaids who have had a few too many sparkling rosés and find me irresistible.  I swear I’m not a predator, I just happen to do really well at weddings.  I look great in a suit and always have a very fine one for the occasion.  I arrive early with a gift and normally have a choice seat somewhere in the single digits.  Not out of earshot of the family, usually a position of reasonable respectability.  Such was the case at this particular wedding which was for a co-worker to a wealthy heiress to a regional construction mogul.  The groomsmen were comprised of current and former co-workers as well.

Here’s the curveball, normally I’m a bachelor.  This isn’t an issue but drinks are served at the ceremony itself.  That’s right, an Irish wedding.  A wealthy Irish wedding.  Jack is already bucking at the strains of his restraints.  Especially when he spots the groom’s sister.  Now, the groom was my host and only a few years older than myself.  His sister a few years younger than him and even fewer years older than me.  She was spectacular and closer to my age and place in life.  We didn’t strike up conversation until the reception just before dinner when I stepped out for a cigarette.  I was already on my way to being well lubricated but still very witty and genial.  There she was with the bride’s father and a few other of her senior family members when I slid over and lit Pam’s cigarette.  I immediately commanded a light but interesting conversation for all present and departed a touch early and confident that I had left everyone intrigued enough to pursue me further for more.  This was confirmed later in at least Pam when I found myself once again smoking only to see her excuse herself from her company to come and join me for conversation.  we spoke for a time before I returned to get drinks for myself and my girlfriend.  Dinner had come and gone and I was drunk by this point and my bachelor habits started to return.  Though despite being drunk I was holding together nicely.  I was walking fine, speaking without slurring nor raising my voice.  I’m sure I exhibited some signs, though for the most part I was alright.  Truthfully I was bombed.  I still remember the details though.  I stopped to make casual conversation with a few groups of people including a few bridesmaids who I had no interest in.  I gave them compliments because that is what you do.  It’s polite.  The bachelor, Jack McBastard, even though he is a self-serving prick knows that if you want to do well with women you keep the herd happy.  Make them all feel appreciated.

I speak to Pam again.  This time I casually mention that I have a girlfriend.  This disturbs her visibly.  It didn’t occur to me that she was very seriously flirting with me the whole time… and I was right back!  Did I mention that I had been leaving my girlfriend unattended in the banquet hall while I stepped out for cigarettes to apparently flirt with Pam?  No, I don’t think I did.  Well, I had been for the last two hours without even realizing it.  The worst is yet to come.  This jars me a little and I finally notice how drunk I am, I have two whole pints so I return to my seat and tell my girlfriend that she better help me drink at least one because I am just simply not going to be able to manage both (truthfully I could have I just don’t think that I should at this point because I made a huge mistake and felt embarrassed enough).  I go out for another cigarette hoping to apologize to Pam, no go.  I don’t see her.

On the way back though I see her on the dance floor by the bar.  I go over and try to talk I apologize and I don’t know why but, I guess because I feel bad, I kiss her on the cheek.  Then I walk back and sit down with my girlfriend.  I tell her that we may be leaving soon I just need to go to the restroom.  Upon completing this I step out only to immediately find the maid of honour right in my face.  She calls me a piece of shit and tells me that I have been trying to pick up every woman in the place.  I ask her what women.  She says that they came to her complaining, I tell her to take me to them I would love for them to tell me directly what I said to make them think that I was interested in them.  Because as we know I have had no interest in anyone yet tonight other than the unusual bachelor habit of flirting with a woman without even realizing it.  She then tells me (as though dodging a bullet) but wait, your girlfriend is crying outside.  Now why isn’t that the first thing that you would have told me?  That seems like a far more important thing to me, I need to go see her.  Yeah you better, says she…  Okay crazy bitch, go find your story telling friends who need to find really attractive men and pretend that those men are then interested in them to make themselves feel like complete and worthy women.  When you find them why don’t you all get in a van and drive it into a river while it’s on fire so you can drown WHILE burning to death.  Thanks.

I go outside to find one of the guys who I used to work with standing between my girlfriend and myself.  He blocks me from talking to her.  He blames me for causing her for being upset.  I tell her I am taking her home.  He tells me that I don’t get to talk to my own girlfriend.  Then before I know what is happening I catch a punch square in the face.  My upper tooth punctures my lower lip.  It goes clean through to the outside.  I leave my feet and land in a pile of patio furniture.  Wearing a $1400 hugo boss suit.  I’m thrilled.  Fortunately because of this last fact I have the presence of mind to not lash back.  I stand up.  I turn and I leave.  I drive, drunk as fuck to the hospital.  I text my girlfriend because she has some of my possessions and I want them back as soon as possible.  I don’t really care what she does and I won’t call the police so long as she gives me my stuff back.  Finally she asks me where I am, I’m not quite sure why she cares…

She finally demands to meet me.  I tell her I am at the hospital.  She meets me and I am NOT in a good mood.  What happened was that the guys who I used to work with manipulated her into believing I was cheating on her.  She saw the kiss on the cheek and thought that it was for real.  They simply generated controversy and conflict for sport and violence because they literally had nothing going for them and the only available woman spent the whole night flirting with me.  They needed a bullshit reason to send me to the hospital for stitches.  Easy enough when your girlfriend is an insecure 22 year old and you have a really bad habit of behaving like a bachelor.

I’ve bounced from short lived relationship to sexual fling to short lived relationship and so on for my entire life.  I’ve always been on the prowl.  I honestly don’t know how to turn it off.  I don’t know if I ever will.