Dear Fellow Beautiful Beings,

Everyone knows someone, if not personally then most likely in the tabloids, or countless movies and tv shows, who have suffered from some kind of substance abuse. But what about when that narcotic is another human being?
Welcome to my world!
It’s a tricky one cause there is no bottle of booze or jar of pills to put down. It’s all stored in that hidden place of shame and dread. My brain! Which apparently thrives on giving great power to the opposite sex, allowing them to completely occupy my cranium like a cancer. It’s an obsession in my psyche that at times, feels so incurable and hopeless, I end up questioning a reason to exist.

I apologize if that was too brazen of a start, but I’m almost fifty- And honestly, I’m just really sick of the pain.

This is probably foreign to most of you, but if you’ve never completely ruined your whole day just waiting for one person to text you back, consider yourself extremely lucky.

I’m not writing this because I know any answers or solutions, only that I know the addiction, and have, at various times throughout my life, suffered greatly from it. If you are reading this and can relate just know you can reach out to me after your peers refuse to hear that “assholes” name once more!
If you don’t have a close friend afflicted with the same mental illness, forget them having any understanding of your pain, they instead just deem you as weak.
Which makes you stop relaying any obsession related feelings or actions to them, leaving you even more alone in your pain. This is not at all a criticism of the frustrated friends I have had over the years….
Just a statement I felt I had to address for anyone that has been in the same shame filled predicament and felt they had no one to reach out to.

I wish I could have more open conversations with female friends, but just like a guy assuming all women are insane, the first female response I receive is too often “that guy’s an asshole, or narcissist.” Or both. I don’t buy it to be that black and white. But maybe that’s because I have been called crazy ever since I can remember.
My friends may be right, and these guys may be complete douchebags, but I am the one who should be more harshly judged. Majority of these guys showed their cards from the beginning, and I kept going back. Recklessly betting with my emotions, knowing the house always wins.
I am the one that needs shock therapy for spending a large chunk of my life vying for the love of several emotionally unavailable human beings! And the last one was a Raiders Fan. As if my shame wasn’t embarrassing enough!

I’ve spent a huge majority of my adult life grasping for the undying affection of the opposite sex. Desperately wanting random, various men to love me, all while picking the absolute worst candidates for the job.
What’s that famous quote “I don’t want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member”?
If someone likes me too much and too quickly, I automatically assume there is something very wrong with them. Cause why would they choose me?
Or maybe I just love a good challenge…

I spent the years of 2009-2012 being completely obsessed with a guy I never even kissed. To the point I knew his daily schedule and would try to time my walks to the gym to correlate when he was leaving his local AA meeting across the street.
In case you didn’t believe me when I said this wasn’t based solely on sexual contact…

I’ve had a few healthy relationships in my life, and about four completely unhealthy, obsession filled, several years long casualties. I’m writing this in desperate hopes that this “last one” is exactly that.

I fell in love in early 2020 with who I now hope is my last bad habit.

And yes, I did sleep with this one and the sex was amazing. But he was insistent that we were just friends. I would wait around till he wanted to see me again, which was usually about every three weeks, just the type of annoying cycle every woman is used to.
Eventually I was literally breaking my own heart for an hour of what I thought was the deepest love I had ever felt for another person of the opposite sex.

Complete ecstasy followed by a month of tears, and sad desperate angry texts, usually in the vein of “why don’t you love me?”

Is there any more of a turnoff?

At least once a month I would plan out what I was going to say to him when he contacted me. Usually, a very dramatic monologue about why I did not want to see him anymore. Desperately hoping every day that he would text me so I could tell him why I don’t want him to text me anymore.
Literally, the definition of insanity…
Please contact me so I can tell you why I no longer want you to contact me!

But of course, he never did. He didn’t need to. I wouldn’t make it two weeks without convincing myself that if you love someone you should check in and see how they are doing. Which in turn would result in him offering to come over and who am I to say no? I could die tomorrow.
Carpe Diem!!
Still trying to figure out if my brain is a blessing or a curse…

I tried being with other people but it just felt mediocre, and why settle for a buffet when I can still get the Filet Mignon?
These are the justifications my brain makes.

The more months that passed, the more seriously I began to ponder that this self-destructive, depression inducing behavior, could actually turn to real serious self-harm. It’s already a challenge going thru this menopausal mid-life change.

After three years of desperate yearning and too many thoughts of disappearing, I suddenly became insistent that he be my last depression-filled, self-destructive, obsession.
If I didn’t finally change, I was going to die. Not necessarily because of him, but because he was just the next protagonist in the story of my life of men I have chosen to destroy me.
In a desperate quest to find the silver lining in what felt like a no-win situation, I forcefully embraced the mindset that the universe keeps giving me the same challenge until I conquer it. I made it my personal emotional boot camp to stick it out with him until I no longer felt like I needed him in order to survive.
I kept going back to him while doing intense personal therapy to make sure I would never choose another one of these killers again.
This sounds like insane behavior, but until I learned why I gave him and countless others a key to all my happiness, I knew I would have just repeated the same behavior with someone new.
I have run thirteen full twenty-six mile marathons, and watched An Officer and A Gentleman at least a dozen times.
Just like Richard, I don’t back away from a challenge.

After many long walks accompanied by motivational podcasts, and hours of the best spiritual hot yoga (shout out to CorePower Yoga) I no longer cry from the ridiculous thoughts that I desperately need him in my life. I also no longer have anger toward him.

I do my best to look at every situation as one that comes from a place of love. Whomever I am tortured by is quite possibly in turn tortured by somebody else. I don’t know these guys personal stories. I just know I don’t want to blame them anymore. “Hurt people- hurt people.”
I’ve been looking so hard for validation from others instead of just getting it from myself.

I have no answers or any hint of a cure. I’m not sure there even is one, except that similar to being an alcoholic, I just take it One Day At A Time.
The one thing I have learned is that it’s not always real. Not every thought I have in my head is fact. It took me till the age of about forty-two to learn this, but better late then never I guess. So now when the negative thoughts and hours of dialogue I pretend to have with a guy rejecting me plagues me to the point of tears, I don’t fight it. I grab some Kleenex and cry and just imagine those bad thoughts are like a horrible radio station I am forced to listen to till it runs out of battery.

This article hits on a chunk of my life that resulted in depression, but I’d like to end it by reassuring all of you wonderful people who were caring enough to read this till the end, that I am very good. I practice amazing self-care every day, and I am constantly grateful that this is quite literally my only problem in life. What’s a little mental illness?!
At least I’m not a Raiders Fan…

Sincerely,

Jen Murphy