NYC

So, I live in New York City now. It’s kind of surreal. I mean, I always knew I would end up here in some form or fashion, but…I’m actually here now. I mean, this is it. That’s all there was to it, was to get up and do it. I am living in New York City! Ok, well, I’m renting a shitty, over-priced, double-efficiency in a dusty old hotel turned student housing residence. But that still counts!

I can say that I am now officially a jaded New Yorker! And it only took four months! 

Any time I tell someone that I was born in upstate, I still get the scrunchy face. But it’s alright. I love my hometown of Buffalo, NY. But I gotta say…New York City is soooo much more interesting. And to think, the first time I’d ever been to New York City was to actually move here. 

Well…I’ll settle in here, graduate with my fancy expensive degree, and head out west. Toward Seattle! And smoke guilt-free bud all day every day! Then maybe to Arizona or California. Who knows, whichever way the wind blows. Gypsy soul. 

What is the Inverse of Function?

Dysfunction.

I’m not really certain just yet of how to come to terms with the realization that I am doomed to a life of unstable, tumultuous, emotionally dependent, short-lived relationships, due to having a missing ‘father’ who doesn’t love me and was never in my life. This is my Freudian theory anyway. And my dear mother—she  didn’t know love herself,  and so I never inherited a sense of self-love. She was victim to an abusive legal union…with my father. And now I go on to perpetuate the seemingly never-ending cycle of dysfunctional interpersonal relationships, with men in particular. 

And if it seems as though I am blaming my childhood and my parents for my fucked-up-ed-ness now, well, I am…but only partially. But In my own defense, is this not what adult-adolescent hybrids do? 

Anyway, I digress and I don’t mean to.

Now back to the matter at hand.

I almost feel as though I subconsciously chose to seek out the affections of men who just…do not want to be with me. Or who are unavailable in some…way, shape or form. 

There’s some kind of pattern going on here…but I can’t quite figure out what it is. Every man I that meet, I run him away. It goes something like:

• Girl meets guy
• Girl seduces guy
• Guy is enamored with girl
• Guy takes girl out on dates (assuming date #2 happens)
• Girl likes guy a whole lot
• Girl becomes attached to guy
• Girl  sends guy nice/sweet texts, just to check up on him and see how he’s doing
• Guy never responds
• Girl sends passive-aggressive texts to guy, pretending not to care whether he acknowledges her existence at all while at the same time hoping to tug guy closer using failed reverse-psychology tricks
• Guy still doesn’t respond, or does so minimally
• Girl wonders why guy doesn’t text or call as often as he should
• Girl suspects some kind of push-pull manipulative game-play that occurs far too often among-st 20-somethings who date
• Girl sends more and more obsessive texts attempting to get guy’s attention
• Girl becomes increasingly impatient and hostile in text messages
• Girl texts guy that she bets he has a really small penis and that she noticed his baby hands and cocked left eye

Guy finally responds with either:

“Hey, I was sick, I’m sorry I’ve been in bed all day” (lying sociopath)

or,

“WTF?!” (lying asshole who was ignoring girl all along, and is pretending to be shocked/offended by girl’s worrisome, neurotic, attention-seeking behavior)

I see that this is a bit of a problem here.

But…am I running them away, or were they not all that interested to begin with? I don’t for certain know what or whom to blame. All I know is that I am lonely. Wayyyy down inside.  And when you’re feeling lonely, deep down to the core of your being…this is ironically the time that you most need to be alone. Life’s cruel, torturous, healing medicine. Loneliness. It’s a time for reflection, self-love, personal growth/evolution. And these are all beautiful calendar/facebook status quotes but in practice, it becomes much more daunting.

…I don’t feel that I am deserving of love, even of my own self.