The Deprovert

Some people are a super nova of social energy. Like a swarm of puppies contained in the soul of a single person, they just have to meet everyone and be their friend. They're beloved by all and are sought out by head hunters for jobs.

And then there's the introverts.

And the introverts with depression. Lets call it a deprovert.

And then put a nova-person into the same room as a deprovert...

It sucks the deproverts soul right out leaving them in a whimpering huddle.
But that's worst case scenario. Don't get me started on a depressed/anxiety/introvert. Or Angstdropert.

A depressed introvert has finite emotional energy and in relationships that are emotionally depreciative a deprovert will inevitable withdraw for their own emotional health.

Dates are as bad as interviews if not worse because, as I mentioned in previous posts, the side effects can be guilt ridden.

At the beginning the deprovert is hopeful, engaging, throwing themselves out there trying to make it work.

But if it ain't jiving then the deprovert's emtional bank account is overdrawn. Or in other words, the two personalities simply didn't mesh and there was no emotional deposit.

After a series of unrewarding dates which leave average people un-phased, this is emotionally devastating for a deprovert.  They can spend months recovering. (or how ever long it takes for memories to fall off into the void.)

This is the Black Hole of dating, emotions get sucked right out of a person and never return. They are slowly regrown or nurtured back by supporting loved ones. (Warning, encouraging more dating before a deprovert is recovered is as good as sticking a vacuum hose up their nose and sucking out what little energy they recovered. They need your love more than suggestions.)

In these instances be kind, not helpful.

The Wicked Ex-Wife of the West and Jacob Marley.

Divorce is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. I try not to judge a guy that's gotten a divorce because I know very good people who have had the tragedy of going through one. So I decided to date a guy who revealed that he was divorced by briefly mentioning his kid. We didn't discuss it prior to the date and I didn't want it to be the subject of our date, the important feature was him and would I like him?
He picks me up, he's funny, vibrant, good manners, dressed nice. So far so good. We go to dinner and talk about our favorite things and have a nice time. But for me, that thing we didn't talk about was there leering at me.

The question of the wicked ex-wife of the West and Jacob Marley. Was it him or her or both that was the problem? Was she this hag and he was the poor unfortunate soul that would always have her to haunt him? Was he negligent of his role? Had he been the unkind one? Obviously the reasons are as diverse as there are species of munchkins and flying monkeys. But since I'm dating to find my mate these are essential things to ask. Because if I did fall for this guy what would I have to help him contend with?
Then of course the poor kid torn between them. If I came into this kid's life I would never and wouldn't want to replace his mother. But this fact, I often feel like, would hinder my ability to contribute to the well being of a step child if he chose to use it.

 

 I could see this poor guy covered with heavy chains that I felt inadequate to relieve. Aside from the fact he made me feel like a giraffe he was very nice but he could sense my reluctance in spite of my efforts to keep my concerns buried. He took me home, was equally kind in his send off and he left and I felt guilt like usual.

But I did make an honest effort to not let his past cloud my judgement but the fact we never discussed it is what, I think, left too much to a VERY active imagination.

GUILT

After engaging in sci-fi speed dating at comic con and dating 3 guys in a row over the course of a week I find myself emotionally exhausted and feeling miserable.
Why?
Then I realize, dating makes me feel overwhelming guilt. No wonder I hate it so much.
It goes like this, first the poor guy works up the courage to call or text. We both put on our best faces and cordially chat and ask questions. Then one of us, usually him, works up more courage and suggests a date. We go out and he spends his hard earned money to feed and/or entertain us. But after these dates I just find I'm not interested and the guys have invested time and money on me that got them nothing.
To me if someone entreats you it is a gift. According to our culture a gift is only unconditional if its anonymous. So I feel indebted to these guys but don't want to continue with them. Then I feel guilty.

If they are still interested they text back, "oh we should do this again" *little hearts shooting our their heads*. Then I get mad because I feel that debt but I don't want to go out again. I try to be kind but guilt takes all valor out of a person. So then in outrage at my predicament I just stop texting and never respond. I feel like every conclusive response to let them down is only patronizing. So I feel helpless, fear retribution, and justice is against me because they spent money on me.

Then I feel like a horrible person and just feel mean, moody, and very sad.

I've done dates where I initiate it, pay for it, or make dinner myself. But again, cartoon hearts are shooting out their heads and they're hearing bells and I don't then I'm just irritated and still feel guilty. They've just taken a risk and thrown their little hearts at my feet and I feel like I have to step on it for either of us to move on.

I end up avoiding dating for a time while I recover emotionally. After a season alone I feel lonely because I don't have a dude but then when a dude actually wants to date I feel horrible dread.

Slim Pickin's

There's this article floating around facebook that I read and I'm sure lots of you have too.
What Two Religions Tell Us About the Modern Dating Crisis: http://time.com/dateonomics/

It was very enlightening and made lights go on for me. But at the same time made me very depressed. It says that basically, in Utah-Mormon dating circles that there are three women for every two men.

And then people prefer to marry their academic equivalent. In Utah more women than men have their degrees.

But since there is such a unbalance in gender ratios that plastic surgery has become a rising if not already huge industry as women compete for the scarce choice men.

But since the guys have so many choices they take their dear sweet time choosing because they have so many options and they can reproduce during their entire life time unlike women.

So if dating wasn't hard enough now there aren't enough men to go around. I myself have never fit the cultural female mold as I have mentioned so I feel that no matter my qualities my chances are very poor for being chosen among the other more ideal women. And then 90% of those men in that unbalanced demographic, as I also mentioned, are already addicted to porn. Talk about slim pickins'.

Prehistoric Monster Syndrome

Eve was told she would forever bear children in sorrow.By sorrow did they mean HULK?

Some women suffer from PMS more than others and I'm afraid that mine is bad enough that I can personify these moods. What's worse, is a few poor guys have had the misfortune of going out with me during these hazardous two week mood mutations.

I'm a huge fan of movies; my favorite parts of movies is a well made villain. The more terrifying or daunting a villain, the more impressive the hero that defeats them.

But, in the back of my mind, I frequently find that I can compare my involuntary mood swings to these theatrical villains. The aforementioned personifying of moods. Then, put these villains on a date with some poor unsuspecting guy and, well....

PMS can completely alter a woman's personality and even appearances just with that wicked chemistry. It's a literal Miss. Jekyll and Miss. Hyde. When I'm hit with these moods of nastiness, sometimes I try to use the more logical side of my brain to at least be cordial but it probably comes across as cold and calculated.

I often despair because I feel like a ticking bomb that nature made.
Ever been in a car wreck? The sickening dread and anxiety that feels like a lead brick dropped in your chest? Then soak a heavy mattress and carry it around, then imagine it in your chest. Then add a general disgust for planet earth and a hair trigger temper followed by agonizing stabbing pains in your abs, back, and general pelvic area. Then do that for two weeks out of every month.
See if you can resist responding to people with death ray.

I have diligently tried to treat this chemical warfare. Sometimes large doses of Vitamin D andCalcium then Magnesium, Potassium, iron, chromium and evening primrose help but results are inconsistent. So until I can master PMS I simply cannot date when the HULK is loose.

WARNING: Gaming is NOT Impressive

I met a nice guy at church who told me his life ambition was to become a professional gamer.

I've heard every argument to the benefits of gaming. I'm still not convinced. Because basically what it really all boils down to is gaming is a life substitute, an escape. And not a very healthy one in any respect.

I show interest in it for the sake of friends and family because they enjoy it and I care about their interests. But I don't want to marry someone invested in it and here is why:

If you compare generations that never had video games to the ones that do. There is a very distinct difference between initiative, work ethic, life style, spirituality, and character.
I've watched the long term negative effects unfold in the lives of friends and family and I have yet to witness a positive effect. This is a twenty-five year observation.

I don't know the opinions of other women on gaming but when I look at a guy and he says his past time is gaming, I imagine what a marriage with that would be like:

Variations of this pop into my head every time.
In the same duration of life that my friends and I lived, while they gamed I learned how to play violin, piano, bind hand made books, sew, read countless books, create countless pieces of art, compose music, served others, went to college, put money in savings, learned how to maintain a vehicle, had consistent jobs, and many other things. My friends and I suffer from variations of depression and anxiety. Before I was medicated, depression for me has been so severe I suffered brief periods where I couldn't function. But I still lived a productive life without resorting to gaming to escape. Often artwork was my escape, its side effect was entertaining others.

I am certainly not naive to gaming. I played plenty of Mario Cart, Super Mario, Super Smash Bros, Star Fox, Halo, Zelda, and Star Craft, with friends and family as a kid. But I eventually stopped completely.
Because of what family and friends have shown and told me about it since, I've had entire in depth conversations with people on games that I have never seen nor played and yet people are shocked when they learn I have never seen nor played any of the games we had just spoken of. I know what is in these games, how they are produced, the stories, the goals, I have even participated a tiny bit in making a student made video game. I am well educated on them.

So my total disgust with gaming is no secret when I see what its done to people. So why would I want a husband who's dedicated significant portions of his life to a GAME and gained nothing?
To me its a show of lack of prioritization, discipline, and lost potential.
It is not a life skill, you can't put it on a resume, its not attractive, and it has little value in real life.

If I'm going to weather tough times with a man in matrimony, I can be choosy on this.

Guilty of Being Tough

Being single is tough.
And being a single girl, at least from my perspective, is tougher.
Growing up I had the devoted attention of bullies at school and then was uncontested sport for siblings at home. So to survive I had to find a defense system.
I began with the discipline of unresponsiveness to physical and verbal attack, or "boot camp". Human beings, like predators in the wild, are stimulated by prey that runs or shrieks. But if prey is boring, like a possum, the predators lose interest.

This was only partially effective so I had to begin adding armor. First was the cloaking device.

The actual art of social invisibility where one learns how to not attract attention from their peers. But this also meant you didn't exist either. So in Jr. High I had no name so I was dubbed: "Hey you" or addressed "Nerd." This method is easier in high school when kids' craving for blood has ebbed with their desensitization to nature's hormone overload.

The next set of armor is accumulated over time and better known as "batman's belt."

In elementary all my friends were on different vacation tracks than me so I spent most recesses alone. My friends were also never in the same classes so when it came to group projects I was always whittled off to the dysfunctional groups. These are those fabulous kids that have severe apathy and have the initiative of a wet sock so I was the one that had to carry the group to save my grade.
So over the years I had to accumulate skills, tricks, and facts that allowed me to survive alone what was meant to be done with several people.

My crowning example of this is one day my very bored teacher up and decided we were going to have a snowball competition. He took our class out back to some freshly fallen pristine packing snow in the field. Right off about eight boys grouped up and began rolling up a whopper of a snow ball.
The other groups were at least 3 to 4 strong. Once again, being deprived of my friends I set off by myself and began rolling one on my own. Two girls noticed that I was doing surprisingly well so they rather suddenly became friendly and asked to join me. They walked along side as I continued rolling and sweating behind the growing ball alone. When the competition ended I had the second largest snowball next to the group of eight dudes. *Nods* I had something on my belt for that.
This has essentially been my life story from kindergarten to my college degree. Not by choice but by necessity.

Along with batman's belt I needed heavy artillery to survive. Not the kind that has US ARMY stenciled on it but the kind that has DeWalt branded on the side.

Once I had a car I began to learn really fast that mechanics shops are hives of dishonesty and its way easy to take advantage of people who don't know diddly-squat about cars.
"*Tsk Tsk* "Man, tie rods? Those are a doozy that's gonna cost $400 to replace those."
Half hour later with my older brother and his tie rod remover we had them replaced for $60.
So the heavy artillery is street smarts and life skills. The more you can do on your own, the less chances you'll have of getting screwed by retail services.
I suddenly made a hobby of accumulating skills. I found having skills very reassuring and I slept better at night because I wasn't at the mercy of strangers.

The next set of armor is shielding. Toughness to endure discomfort, threats, and trials. The giant mech-suit of invulnerability.

1 in 5 women have been raped in the U.S. I always imagined that if someone tried to do that to me...well, I plan on sending them to a hospital or a morgue. In no small way do I feel vulnerable. I'm haunted by the frequent news stories of women on their morning walks getting assaulted and psychos breaking into single girls housing. I had a past co worker who was armed with pepper spray and had security officers nearby and still got sexually assaulted at a train station and didn't get rescued and couldn't get to her spray.

So while my friends were orienting their life trajectory I was going to college alone riding the 3 hour round trip on the bus until the train opened then it was about a 2 hour round trip. But if there's one thing cheep transportation attracts its weirdos.
Since I was young I've loved jackets and as I've grown up I've somewhat suspected jackets are my security blanket. Because once I started taking those long rides and encountering scary people I got me a big tough pilot looking jacket with the furry flip up collars and loud zippers. It made my arms look far less stick like and made me look just a bit more intimidating. I don't know how well it worked but I felt safer in it.

Now that I'm getting nearer age thirty I've had to continue accumulating these belt gizmos, artillery, and shields so that I can survive life alone as well as possible. But I worry that, with my already macho upbringing, that my toughness has made me coarse and intimidating to men.

Tenderness is something that is more needed in the world and I forget that tenderness is good. I don't want to be tougher than my man, I'd like to have a rescuer for once. I don't know if there is a man that can either help me lower my shields or see through the UV protective glass and see that there's a big eyed tender girl inside that can let go the joy stick and let the dude show me how its done.