Too Afraid Of Guys To Try A Relationship

[Resilientbibliophile]

Hello,

With regards to my experience of being an open marriage projective plaything, one of the most disorienting aspects of the role (and it was a role) was what I'll term the 'performance' aspect of it. I don't know if I'm flying in the face of gender norms when I relate as much, but I found heterosexual sex bewildering upon first experience of it aged 39 years. Prior to this, faint memories of personally upsetting high school experiences allowed only for homosexual boundary exploration. What has been termed 'non-touching' sibling sexual abuse forms another theme within my row of skeleton-filled closets containing narrative strands that resist ready tranformation into hopeful tales of assertion. Finally, combine this with the predictable experiences of severe secondary school hazing and I just wasn't prepared, let alone programmed in a cultural sense to feel comfortable within a straight identity.

Skipping now to the recent past, I think in some ways I resented the presumption that the best, the ultimate and demonstrably untoppable way to bond with, to convey attachment was to afford sex even as as I remained detached and perpetually hard to reach. It scares me to think that I've been so-damaged that I cannot honestly and creatively meet the challenge of filling out in a positive way what others experience as a right and positive sexual identity. By contrast, I feel a spectator within my own life experience. Am I a person, or simply an animated black box recording device fated to wound others for being both emotionally and sexually unreachable?

In particular, for long I seemed so invested in the concept of a life bond, of finding a life partner that when sex entered the frame, I wasn't remotely ready to factor such in. It was rather as though I had studied for a five-page exam and was instead issued a nine-page exam with lurid content that no film board would even issue a rating to. Worse and most unexpectedly, the presumption of my partner(!) was that such was a vouchsafed and core means to wordlessly relate to me even as my intellectual and emotional needs fell by the wayside. How utterly bizarre to discover such 39 years into life! What constitutes my sexual identity? Who knows! Shock and awe, raw and now 'instruction' seemed more to sear into memory activated animal instincts I still have trouble claiming as my own, whereas some reasoned balance between myself and a future partner seems some time off. I wonder if I can get there?

I wouldn't claim that I'm so different from other men to the extent that thoughts of sex perculate within my mind on a day-to-day basis. Maybe awareness of and the horror of bonding to the wrong person (and she to I) as well as memories of the domestic fright that was the relationship of my parents distorts my perception of the 'positive possible'. Memories too of living in a female-dominated home where men were the conversational stuff of what dissipointed in life, whereas being the last and decidedly unexpected child (and yes, the stuff of tension) influences me besides. In total all I do know is that the two relations I've had seem to have derailed with a crash when sex seemed to become the entire basis of the relation. Fears that my attention might be slipping lent personally upsetting urgency to what sexual relations were not so much afforded, but in an atypical sense, seemingly thrust upon normally tacturn and diminutive me.

Alone then, not quite expecting to be in another relationship - at least with someone I could agreeably mesh with. What I want I cannot have; i.e. some trip back in time to meet an equally inexperienced someone during years I've blacked out, where in our late-teens and early-twenties the fumbling and imprecise amusement of figuring how everything works in the near-dark could be wryly delightful. I've never been a wolf, I doubt I've ever qualified as a predator, whereas the whole business of emerging from a cave, clubbing my mate, and dragging her by the hair to my den is simply not something I can embrace as a role. I attach too readily to simply choose a target and move away quickly. I'm not confident I can mature quickly enough now to make up the experiental and maturation gap I need to secure a balanced and good relationship - with sex or not. I greatly regret my discovery that sex can be experienced, but that maturational development may lag to the extent that physical 'proof' of commitment isn't necessarily matched by the quality of the interpersonal bond struck, let alone sustained. Call me naive then, for what else am I? Thanks...


M.

 

[saffy]

I'm not confident I can mature quickly enough now to make up the experiental and maturation gap I need to secure a balanced and good relationship - with sex or not.

Hi M

Out of interest are you writing a book?

Going back to your quote, I feel like this. I feel that I am way behind in all relationship aspects. I am now starting to realise that this is what I need to work on the most and found that by really thinking about how I want to be treated and what I could do if someone treated me badly, I can only say it is making me feel less naive.

My personal journey has only just begun so a long way to go, I am 46 now, so no spring chicken. I do not feel like I am mentally though. This makes me feel well out of my depth if I find a mature person, one who would probably be the one who actually treats me properly, rather than the immature or insane BFs I normally allow into my life. Maybe because I do not think I am worth a nice mature sane man? who knows.

When I was younger I ended up with idiots who had no idea how to treat a person properly, and were crap in the bedroom, really selfish and uncaring. I realise that now.

I think this is why people say to date with your self esteem in tow and always try to date out of your comfort zone.

I am looking for a person now who respects me as a person, and that will be based on how I interpret his whole attitude from the off. I also tell myself that if they treat others bad or have a bad GF history then I am not taking the chance that he will change for me. I have learnt they will not, the hard way.

I also am a bit worried that only the dredges are left, the real B*stards that no body else wants. But then I suppose they might see that of me, old spinster. Isn't life confusing :)

best wishes
Saffy :)

 

[Resilientbibliophile]

Thanks for the kind interest,

In a sense I've backed in to assembling a memoir even as organizing such has proven very difficult. Across the holiday season previous to this one (2011-2012 being referenced then) I was asked by a trauma psychologist to commit to print what might equate to a statement regarding "my traumas with women". This seemed far too simplistic a frame to work within, for there were many actors and actresses both, and as distorted though the scene was, I did exercise some degree of personal agency - always.

This initial effort generated about 120 pgs., whereas for the slow process of reclaiming experiental territory typically blacked out, the material now totals about 370 pgs. double-spaced and in 12 point font. Many, many holes still exist, whereas compressing and rephrasing material to concentrate experiences had and insights gleaned is a daunting, albeit very necessary task. Hardly a word about my high school years, my days away at school, and much else - and yet such a silly volume of words! Soon I'll 'harvest' the bulk of my written content here to fill in, compare and contrast to what is already kept warm and dry, and integrate such in turn.

About everything I write here on the PTSD Forum seems to clock in at about a page, whereas surely some of it can be integrated for careful editing. The reality of suffering the effects of proximity and secondhand PTSD here for reading of the white hot traumatic legagies others live with is counterbalanced by a dynamic which allows myself to reclaim other aspects of my buried history. Analogous horror so-recited pushes open another tightly-sealed door, and hence I'm prompted to reflect, and yes - write about this hidden experiences too. In short the hazards of exposure to the wild and hugely upsetting pain of others is dovetailed to means whereby I might also learn about myself for being prompted to write about legacies otherwise too toxic to reflect upon.

In early June of 2011 I executed a quite radical decision to wholly empty my email account of all letters sent and all letter received for such seemed so powerful a storehouse of triggers - this totalling about five years of electronically stored content absent back up. Such undoubtably was a profound record of dead friendships, dead relationship, spent social networks that could not be revived even as I so needed something to replace that lost. Twenty pages of sent messages tossed out in a go, perhaps seven subfiles of inbound messages from a most unpleasant period life thrown out completely. I couldn't move forward without technically eliminating my ability to review such detailed reportage of much. A wild compulsion to return and reexamine key moments in the recent past had proven utterly debilitating, and short of destroying the messages I couldn't fathom how I could keep going, how I might face the future.

Experiences with the trauma psychologist afforded 'authorization' to write a record, with the same permission effectively prompting me to recover what I could. Such was the urgency of my condition for so long that many hard copies of drafts were recovered from folders kept, whereas looking in the trash bin of my laptop turned up still more that I had given up for lost. The effort continues, although I'm not sure how well-integrated and well-organized it will ever be in sum.

-

As a short aside, I related to a occupational therapist informed and versed about P.T.S.D. my great insecurity regarding a conditional return to school for being no less than a generation older than those around me. In particular, I felt attracted to much younger students and felt a monster for experiencing such. I don't know; i.e. it was heartbreaking to register that the therapist understood as she voiced "...of course, for inside and developmentally, you are exactly that age." How HORRIBLE! What a nightmare, or to quote Ann Hathaway from the film Rachel Getting Married, a nachtmare - being German and thus that much more scary. I didn't want any of this, feeling so vulnerable, possessed of longing, but not quite ready for primetime even as my chronological clock clicks over apace. Thanks...


M.

 

[saffy]

Hi M

I asked because of your manner of writing and how you put things down. :)

I always clear out junk and triggers, why keep them there to torture myself further. I get rid of everything. No point in holding on to it all.

I also do this with contacts who I feel are not important enough to take their shit. I have not lost anything by cutting them out but I have got peace and a new path to try.

I felt attracted to much younger students and felt a monster for experiencing such

In what way?



I find mature and confident people intimidating sometimes and can gravitate to less mature younger people myself.


I realise how immature I really am when with them. I can fall into feeling like a child sometimes. I guess with younger people I will always appear older and more mature. I hate this I want to be more emotionally mature. Hope that makes sense. :)


With younger people I grow out of them very quickly, obviously, and so am kind of stuck between those that are more immature and those who are more mature, and I should be with the later at my age really.

It is also to do with naivety and lack of conversation skills. being paranoid and mistrusting does not help either.


I find writing down things helps me place the pieces easier. I can read back and think, no that happened after, or I need to add that to that part. or it remind me then of other things (I don't like some of them but know I have to face them to move on)

I think it is because I dissociated a lot so lots of stuff is a complete blank. Huge chunks of time. With fleeting memories of things that are so negative it had made me block out any other part of that time. If that makes sense.

Best wishes
Saffy :)

 

[Resilientbibliophile]

Sorry - now noticing the clumsy edit. work across my previous message,

For a brief period I did feel empowered in the wake of tossing out my email in-box and sent files complete. I couldn't believe I'd done it, that I could evidence the strength to resort to such drastic means to severe ties to the past. The effect for me lasted about five months. I don't know - maybe I felt that some paper, some hard-copy record of all that had transpired had to be assembled, had to be kept if some understanding was to be gleaned regarding the course of my life. While I'm hardly innocent of all charges, I nevertheless am the product of peculiar circumstances, and even in a fitful sense, I secret desire that people might notice the aggressive effort I've undertaken and/or undertook to understand, to protest much. What on better days is a memoir is on less-better days a deeply elaborated-upon suicide letter. That tension then; i.e. to destroy records is to cease to be for very few people surround me, whereas to scribble is to, in an admittedly abstract sense - live.

That I took up a pen to carefully mull and process many an experience in a way affords myself tacit permission to allow some aspects of my history to fade, for in print and refined to the nth degree the reality of much patently intolerable and off base isn't discounted. If anything, my very best efforts to articulate overlapping legacies and successive tales of vulnerability for poor boundaries, etc. couldn't possibly be so-effective and/or so-complete without fleeting recall of aspects of my life experience across many an episode. In short, I've found I'm incapable of writing out in detail 'what happened' with clarity and detail sufficient to capture the multifaceted nature of my perceptions and the fitful adaptation I then worked up and struggle now to evolve.

Now there are long periods when I'll not touch what I relate to friends as the content of my 'Purple Folder'; i.e. the descriptive home of an early hard copy of materials written and collected. Rather like the film The Butterfly Effect with one Ashton Kutcher, the proven and undeniable power of the contents of my writing can spark recall of matters so unpleasant that three of four days can be lost at a time. Poof - focus lost, the most vivid recall and personally hideous desire for revenge, scenarios of such running through my mind, dead ends encountered for decisions not taken or fixation upon the brutal reality of the futility of any resistance both offered up or pondered. I'll forget I could even write, that I haven't such descriptive powers to call up, and yet in a moment I'll be privy to a written record of a sustained environment (more than a few in point of fact) of silent terror when few passersby would truly detect so much was amiss.

Along with what is rightfully termed asynchronous development characterized by the pursuit of precocious intellectual interests from a young age mated to the severe delay of maturational advance in the interpersonal realm (the gifted child and gifted adult literature constitutes quite a good literature), there are a few other things I should reveal in brief. I can't capture in few paragraphs even a percentage of it, but on my father's side of the family the 'male line' if you will has been wiped out. My father effectively drank himself to death aged 39, his brother, beset with problems of his own, suffered a stroke and died aged 42. The only son of my uncle then committed suicide at I believe the age of 34, whereas revelations of illicit sexual relations (or at least pressures in this direction) with his wildly deranged mother just appall. At age 43 years then, I feel I'm living 'outside of warranty', hovering between cementing my commitment to live, and in the next moment, doubting my capacity to conduct my life beyond was in a colloquial sense seems a family curse. There is a lot more, but divulging this aspect of my history is enough for one message...

(End of Part I then...)


M.

 

[Resilientbibliophile]

Keeping this short relative to the temptation to speak at length again...

Perhaps I shouldn't have strictly related that I so much prefer younger relationship prospects as I feel painfully uncompetitive when my level of maturity is contrasted to members of my own age cohort. The truly awful sensation of feeling an interpersonal 'misfit toy' is difficult indeed to push beyond. I carry in many a naive and underdeveloped perception of much, teamed with what might be termed a child-like wonder with regards to aspects of interpersonal relation that simply aren't personally flattering if one is inclined to judge me harshly. For myself and speaking in so much code, at lot happened, a lot didn't happen, while emotional support in particular wasn't afforded across decades. People notice, people giggle, and yet I can't quite help throttling a desire to pick up just where I left off developmentally. Mine isn't some orientation based upon a peculiar proclivity or a wanton desire to leverage undue influence, but some reasoned and sound appreciation of what might work for me and what might work (and constitute a right choice and fit) for another. I suppose this is the core of the 'monster' reference - feeling a wholly unsuitable match and yet not knowing what to do. Crushes not had across years now seem almost common to experience.

Though not strictly planned, to return to school was to be situationally sited in proximity to attractive younger students who often seemed emotionally half-formed to speak little of incomplete with regards to personal identity formation. That my history delayed so very much, denied so very much underlines a desire to return if you will to a place where I might in fact occupy a twenty-four year old body surrounded by adequate social support and be assured safety; i.e. a second chance then to make my way forward. This isn't the world I occupy however, and instead I occupy the 43 year old body of a male severely isolated for circumstance pathways to maturational markers that are now felt acutely. Twenty years lost - and reminders all about of the splendor of fitting neatly into the surrounding social fabric, of finding one's way, of fumbling towards relationships, of establishing a sense of pace within the experience of mutuality - this seems so close and yet impossible. I don't want to be haunted by living beings. This will be the hardest aspect of my intended pursuit of a post-secondary degree; i.e. the people and reminders of comparative interpersonal 'normalcy' or normative-range relations that have not been mine to enjoy. Enough for this message... Thanks.


M.

 

[saffy]

Sorry

No reason to apologise at all. I will need some time to read these posts though. you describe things very deeply and in a way that I have to read it three or four times to understand your points, Nothing to do with you at all, but I always like to know that I have fully understood what has been written before I try to answer. I will come back to this later, hope you don't mind, and will reply tomorrow when I am less tired to read.

best wishes
Saffy :)