Remembering Michelle

To be honest, I really didn't know how to start off this post.  So I will say it; Michelle is only one of two women in my lifetime that I truly loved, and while I was young when it came onto me like an incessant whirlwind you could not dissipate, being young made it no less potent.  If anything, it amplified all the rawness and pain that I felt for it being unrequited.   I do remember her from even before I had been a high school sophomore and that she was exceedingly beautiful and feminine, unlike women now days that feel they have to festoon their bodies with tattoos and gradually wear on their physiology with drugs and partying.  


If "alpha female" equated to Michelle, she was quite the prize at the time.  She was a senior, and not only was she gorgeous, but academically bright, lady-like, kept her nose clean, and had the warmest smile I had ever seen.  There were many things to adore about her to a driven but gangly, introverted teen such as myself.  I don't recall exactly at one point that my lionization would infect my loins like a raging fever I couldn't rid myself from, but I do know when she discovered it.   Perhaps the death of a couple of relatives at that period only added to my dismay; they had died in an abrupt car crash.  Now life and love had another meaning; it could be profound but taken away at any time.  She needed to know how I felt because life was fleeting.


Of course, Michelle it not know how strongly I desired her; never before was I moved so deeply by a woman.  Yes, lust was a part of it, but if it had been only sexual I could have moved on.  That was not so easy.    At fifteen, I was floored by it---I'll be up front and state I didn't know how to come to terms with it.  At the time, I wondered if it had been any more powerful I would have moved proverbial mountains just to be with her.


Not that it mattered.  I was a somewhat nerdy younger guy with a crush.  That was it in her world.  That fact alone was eating away at me, but would be even more brutal when I would see her with a bone-headed football player she had befriended.  Sometimes, I wondered if she had latched on to him as a token boyfriend to prevent me from continued pursuit, although she would smile that particular smile to me on occasion and speak to or about me in passing.  It wasn't just the idea she had a trophy beau on her arm that was devastating; it was because I was not even considered despite her coy and wispy acknowledgments of me.  I was in a lower caste, regardless.  I even ruminated if I might as well have been dead, and that my passing would only been thought of momentarily in her life--and she would continue without that much fanfare.


What is paramount is that I was a romantic soul that truly did believe in loyalty, self-sacrifice, passion, and devotion to a woman that I was enamored with.  It is somewhat difficult to convey that belief now despite other posters finding me fairly articulate and direct.  There were other young women, but in my world Michelle was like the chosen one; I wanted her as a soulmate so badly that it tore at the fibers of my being.  For an entire year, I burned with that core fire that would eventually yield to a colder, more darker flame that would not be the same ever since.


Oh yeah, I did mention that I loved another woman later on.  But even then, I was not the same.  Andrea refused to understand that about me despite (supposedly) adoring me to the point of fixation, and as much as she wanted me, I had changed at a younger age.   A crucial part of not loving simply every woman that came along is that very few would ever appreciate what I would have done for Michelle to be at my side for a lifetime, and it transformed me unalterably.  I don't give my respect and love out to just any woman, because Ameriskanks don't respect and love men back in the same fashion.   Michelle would not do the same for me at all.  I had to come to grips with that notion, and it was like trying to grapple with a venomous tiger.   And once that proverbial struggle was over, I came out the other side scarred and stoic.   


There are women out there that think nothing of how heartbreak effects men.  They will even deride and openly mock those same men, not regarding the former and also not realizing their derision leads to more cynicism and even bad karma for those women.  You do get what you give, and those women in kind---in their hubris---refuse to come to terms with how mistreating, demonizing, abusing, and marginalizing men creates the problems that poison the well---even in our culture.  If men took the personal as political (as feminists do) the landscape of the relationships between the sexes would look very, very different.  To say the least, most women would think twice about purposefully hurting men on one level or another, and at the more extreme, the feminist nightmare of what they perceive is oppression and men's anger---one which they are reaping despite their claims to the contrary---would be made manifest.  It is quite a testament to men's reluctance to be at war with women, if anything.  We are not bred to hate them.   But we are not their punching bags or drones, either.   


There was not one real pivotal moment that lead me to become as I am now, but the Michelles of the world will not know the influence they have.  The magic has been constrained like a hermetically sealed talisman; it may just never return.  Women  cry for that romantic soul will not come back, at least not in this lifespan.   And they should be very worried about that.


My experience may seem to pale in the view of men in child support custody battles or dealing with a violent woman bent on destroying their partners somehow, but I have changed.  I have become that man that can say "No" to anything a woman does in my personal life I don't like at all, to the one that can walk away without looking back.  This frightens Ameriskanks more than the guy that cheats, the one that is emotionally or physically abusive, or the one they purport is a "lazy, no good bastard" that lets himself go.  We are dangerous in the light that we are looking out for ourselves since none of them would bother to do the same.  After all, if they truly don't need us, perhaps we can return the favor and let them stare in the mirror at their own real cause of their problems.


There is more I could say, but Michelle has contributed to the man that has walked away.  There is a heavy price tag to pay for creating men like me, whether is was indirect or not---or if they realize it or not.     

If any substantial number of women begin to wonder why they're suffering, and really want to know why, the information is available. The Buddha explained it all quite clearly 2500 years ago. He was surely not the first, nor will he be the last. Afterwards he simply walked away from the melodrama.  ---Philalethes