- Joined
- Jan 6, 2022
- Messages
- 7
I had a rather sequestered childhood (homeschooled), and was always on the outside of typical peer group experiences. My father was quite weak and my mother unstable. Things always felt off in a way I couldn't describe. Growing up, I had this idea of regression to the mean - or what I imagined the mean to be. That would I would find myself entered into typical life arraignments as I went to university, got a job, and so on.
When those rites of passage occurred, there was the odd sensation of the internal detachment enduring. Between that intuition and the demoralizing regimentation research suggests attends much of university life, I got quite depressed and dropped out after completing my BA (with the grades to get into post-grad study). A few years later, I made a comprehensive change in my daily patterns of behaviour. Started eating well, hitting the gym, getting good sleep. I embarked on an intellectually demanding project (non-business related). After getting in shape, though you wouldn't confuse me with Brad Pitt, I look fairly decent. More recently, I've become moderately successful financially. In the next couple of years, I may have enough money to effectively retire before I even hit my mid thirties.
With women, however, my track record remains lacklustre, if not in decline. I had a couple of briefly lived flings with girls in college, mainly because they came onto me. My social skills were under par, or rather mechanical. That's something else I've refined fairly well. I'm by no means an extravert, but I can assert myself when I need to, set a jocular tone, and hold interesting conversations (I have a knack for putting arcane concepts in accessible language).
Insofar as a man can step outside of himself and objectively size up his disposition, I think I have a profound schizoid deficit which 'freezes' intimacy at every stage with the opposite sex. It may not be total, but it's significant. What's interesting, surveying my profile of desires again from outside in, is that I don't care all that much. I suppose some would call me an incel in a spiritual, if not factual sense. From what little I've seen of self-described 'incels', I have felt nothing in common with them. Their life is built around not getting laid and resenting women. If anything, my problem is the opposite. I can take or leave sex (to me it's like eating the chocolate fish a store might give you at Christmas. It's nice and I'll eat it, but I don't ever buy the stuff of my own volition). I like women as people, and every now and again I get hit on. Apart from occasional moments, I don't miss the absence of a girlfriend. With that being said, I retain some of those early future projections of having a meaningful relationship and a family. As I approach my 30th, the path dependence of that eventuality impresses itself upon me.
I don't know why I'm writing this really. I have a vast amount of theoretical knowledge of human behaviour from reading the social sciences, and a keen eye for observation which has served me well in my regular pursuits. I read a couple of chase's articles, and I get where he's coming from. I don't have any conceptual difficulties with what pairing up entails, and nor do I have a global issue socially. There's something in the depths of myself shutting me down romantically, and that's all there is to it. It's likely the protective reflex which preserves the attenuated core of schizoid self from what it considers exterior threat. The whole prospect of relationship, from expressing interest, to the elevated states connected with sex, to her 'being around', incepts an existential anxiety in me, accompanied by a degree of sadness at the situation when I bring it to the forefront of my thoughts. Sometimes it feels as if it's the bridge too far. It's a funny world with even funnier people, I suppose.
When those rites of passage occurred, there was the odd sensation of the internal detachment enduring. Between that intuition and the demoralizing regimentation research suggests attends much of university life, I got quite depressed and dropped out after completing my BA (with the grades to get into post-grad study). A few years later, I made a comprehensive change in my daily patterns of behaviour. Started eating well, hitting the gym, getting good sleep. I embarked on an intellectually demanding project (non-business related). After getting in shape, though you wouldn't confuse me with Brad Pitt, I look fairly decent. More recently, I've become moderately successful financially. In the next couple of years, I may have enough money to effectively retire before I even hit my mid thirties.
With women, however, my track record remains lacklustre, if not in decline. I had a couple of briefly lived flings with girls in college, mainly because they came onto me. My social skills were under par, or rather mechanical. That's something else I've refined fairly well. I'm by no means an extravert, but I can assert myself when I need to, set a jocular tone, and hold interesting conversations (I have a knack for putting arcane concepts in accessible language).
Insofar as a man can step outside of himself and objectively size up his disposition, I think I have a profound schizoid deficit which 'freezes' intimacy at every stage with the opposite sex. It may not be total, but it's significant. What's interesting, surveying my profile of desires again from outside in, is that I don't care all that much. I suppose some would call me an incel in a spiritual, if not factual sense. From what little I've seen of self-described 'incels', I have felt nothing in common with them. Their life is built around not getting laid and resenting women. If anything, my problem is the opposite. I can take or leave sex (to me it's like eating the chocolate fish a store might give you at Christmas. It's nice and I'll eat it, but I don't ever buy the stuff of my own volition). I like women as people, and every now and again I get hit on. Apart from occasional moments, I don't miss the absence of a girlfriend. With that being said, I retain some of those early future projections of having a meaningful relationship and a family. As I approach my 30th, the path dependence of that eventuality impresses itself upon me.
I don't know why I'm writing this really. I have a vast amount of theoretical knowledge of human behaviour from reading the social sciences, and a keen eye for observation which has served me well in my regular pursuits. I read a couple of chase's articles, and I get where he's coming from. I don't have any conceptual difficulties with what pairing up entails, and nor do I have a global issue socially. There's something in the depths of myself shutting me down romantically, and that's all there is to it. It's likely the protective reflex which preserves the attenuated core of schizoid self from what it considers exterior threat. The whole prospect of relationship, from expressing interest, to the elevated states connected with sex, to her 'being around', incepts an existential anxiety in me, accompanied by a degree of sadness at the situation when I bring it to the forefront of my thoughts. Sometimes it feels as if it's the bridge too far. It's a funny world with even funnier people, I suppose.
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