This is a reflection on what happened after I left college and moved back home with my parents. For starters, I need to tell you exactly what happened with my love life.
For starters, the summer before I left, I got with my college RA. He was moving to graduate school. I recommended him to a school 5 states away and he got in. I was coming to terms with the fact that he would be gone permanently.
Moreover, I threw myself into a relationship with him because not only did I like him but my relationship with my ex fell apart. My ex was not happy that I found love with someone else (though I truly was blind in thinking my RA liked me back) and he got with someone else . He would send me text messages about their sexual encounters together from different numbers every time I blocked him. I would try to report him to the police but they assumed it was a “couple’s problem.”
I threw myself at my RA. Looking back, I could see that I was desperate. When I confessed my love for him and that I told my ex about us, he told me he needed space. He ended up blocking me on Facebook and on his phone. I went into a deep depression and I hate to say it, but I went crazy. I ended up texting him from different numbers, calling him 20-30 times, and ended up shunning my friends. Nothing made sense anymore. My major seemed pointless. The uplift I felt from antidepressants and getting help suddenly seemed worthless.
My ex and I also got back together, except we weren’t together. He had lied to me twice about him breaking up with his girlfriend when he wasn’t. I tried to Facebook message her about it but ended up realizing she had blocked my main Facebook account because my ex had told her I was crazy and she would probably never believe anything I said to her. He insisted I agree to be polyamorous with him. He would drive by my dorm and contact me throughout the night. I ended up having to leave the school. He made sure to “tell” (though it was lying) to my family that I was suicidal so that I would be institutionalized and have to come back to school with him. My parents contacted his parents but he told them that I elaborately made up the whole thing and was obsessed with him. They believed him. He also told me “Nobody will ever love you because you are crazy.” So I ended up getting a new number and my stepdad threatened him to never talk to me again.
I went home. It was too late to start classes at my new school due to registering late. I ended up having to stay home. I began to write on Quora about my experiences with Bipolar Disorder and soon realized that my own experiences with medications were not accepted for they were seen as contributing to the stigma of those seeking help for mental disorders. I also threw myself at MRA men on the internet through Whisper and Disqus. I had heated conversations where 40-50 year old men told me I was a selfish woman who didn’t deserve love and where my own experiences in abusive relationships were invalidated.
Throwing myself at people on the internet during the year of 2016 was ultimately a mistake. I corrected Liberals and Conservatives, Feminists and Anti-Feminists. While men on Disqus were attacking my worth as a woman, Liberals on Whisper and Quora were attacking my intelligence. Why did I seek to argue with people online? Deep down, I think I could have been trying to validate others’ hatred of me. Videos like Sandman on Youtube still deeply bother me to this day, when I view them, I think there is no hope for me in having a loving relationship because I still believe men to be evil and myself to be irrevocably flawed. I read my sister’s self-help books and she’s 40. I read chick-lit books. I’ve thrown myself to Men’s Rights advocates and the Psychiatry community. One girl in particular sticks out to me because her comment to this day bothers me and gives me a deep seated uncomfortableness and doubt in myself.
This is the type of ‘question’ I normally avoid because you’re not looking for a solution. All you want to do is beat your fists against a figurative brick wall in frustration and gain as much sympathy as possible. Frustration I understand personally; beat away. Sympathy, I do not, but I can easily employ critical thinking skills and cognitive empathy.
The numerical logic has already been pointed out, as well as the therapist approach and the understanding female friend advice. What’s left for me to analyze? I’m going with my favorite: brutal, logical honesty mixed in with psychological probability.
- Your question suggests that you are self-absorbed and ruminating. This indicates that either you’re going through a depressive episode, or you’re possibly suffering from a personality disorder. No, I’m not going to diagnose you, but portraying rumination and self-hatred publicly while demanding sympathy is narcissistic behavior. Is that a temporary or long-term defense mechanism? If the latter, and considering your mis-diagnosis of bipolar, read up on borderline personality disorder and see if personal accounts resonate. From what I’ve read on your profile, you sound very similar to someone in my inner circle who is borderline. A possibility to consider, perhaps. Either way, such patterns of rumination are helped immensely by DBT. Ask your therapist about it.
- The concept of ‘giving up on all men’ implies that blame for some misdeed is on an entire sex. One or three or five hundred men out of billions has wronged you, and now every man is to blame? Displacement of blame is common in people who have fragile egos and self-esteem. What is your role in what happened? Why aren’t you taking responsibility for your shortcomings? Nothing is one-sided, and taking responsibility for faults actually makes you stronger and more powerful. I know from daily experience.
- Sympathy is like heroin. It feels great, but if you keep taking it, you eventually wake up one day and realize that you’ve lost everything. Those who seek out sympathy instead of compassion are looking for others to justify their refusal to take responsibility for their lives. They’re also handing control of themselves and their lives to someone else. Unless you believe in Jesus, or the FSM, I wouldn’t recommend that. Malignant narcissists await such opportunities.
Am I unworthy of love? Am I not trying hard enough? Am I deeply egotistical and narcissistic? The rabbit hole is deep and unfortunately, I don’t think I will ever crawl out from under this hole again with a sense of confidence and believe that I will find my way in the world. However, I learned some things that may shed light on how my life has failed incredibly.
- Depression is still looked down upon by many people as selfish and needy. People who are depressed and/or emotional will be blamed for the start because they are more vulnerable than others.
- Women are still seen as emotional and irrational despite of the Feminist movement. Though you can get raped, hit, or bullied by your friends – people will still see you as selfish and narcissistic.
Unfortunately, my conclusions are that I have grown weaker as a result of my experience. I can’t allow myself to grow weaker or let this girl’s comments effect me because if they do, I will never have the confidence to do anything again. I’m like a glass figurine that has been cracked and cracked enough that at some point it will shatter and be thrown in the trash can. I sought to escape my Bipolar diagnosis and I sought love but ultimately I found regret. Such is the nature of life I suppose. I wish looking back that I had never sought to be pretty like the popular girls so I could impress my private school crush. I wish I had never allowed myself to be jealous and wished for a boyfriend, sitting alone in the dark and brooding. I wish I had accepted myself for who I am and not allowed myself to get depressed. To have appreciated having friends.
I like to think this story ends at the beginning at the homecoming dance. Matt, Mel, Sam, Caroline, Alexandra, Ryan, Ashley, Will and I were all together on the dance floor of the gymnasium. The song “I Gotta Feeling” came on and we all started dancing. The whole room started dancing too. Being young and innocent like that, we were all full of joy and elation. I turned to Mel and we sung. Me and Alexandra jumped up and down.
Later, it was time to go. I left my shoe under the bleachers. Realizing that the bleachers were down permanently and I couldn’t get my shoe back, I limped away with one shoe on my foot. I hoped that there was some imaginary “Prince Charming” that would find my shoe but ultimately, I knew that I would get up the next day and would make it. That’s all we can do. Yet I know that then, I was miserable too with my own problems. I know that what happened to me was not all my fault. Perhaps life is just a continual progression of one challenge after another and the real challenge is in jumping through as many hoops as you can. I know that…
- That I ran into selfish and narcissistic people along the way.
- That I may never have a normal life, may have to get back on medications and may have to accept that my dreams of having a family, friends and a normal life may be an impossibility.
- That I may always be “mad.”
Hopefully, in the future, we can see how the trauma of what we do to others can impact them and be more careful in how we treat others. For now, I’ve accepted being a narcissist. I see strength in caring for myself first that I did not before. I don’t have time for other peoples’ concerns or ideas of what I should do with my life. I can no longer feel guilt for failed relationships with others because it takes two people to tango and those who can’t see how they tangoed may be the problem in the first place. I hope that’s the big takeaway for this story and as for where it goes, that is up to you.