Finished Love and Limerance. What I circled in the last chapter:

Limerance is not the product of human decision: It is something that happens to us. Its intrusive congnitive components, the obsessional quality that may feel voluntary at the moment but that defies control seem to be the aspect of limerance in which it differs most from other states.

I hope that it may be possible for limerants to cease that self-hatred that sometimes comes from being in the grip of so uncontrollable a force.

At the time, the diary was the only companion to whom he could confide the feelings he most wished to express.

Perhaps the best cure you can administer to yourself is to remove all contact and all possibility of contact between yourself and your unresponsive [limerant object].

What to do if your [limerant object] becomes limerant about someone else[:] Weep. Sympathize. Feel terrible. But recognize that limerance is basically involuntary.

“I love you.”
“Have you read Tennov’s book?”
“No.”
“Let me lent you mine.”

But those in the throes of limerance did not find that their analyses diminished their passion. What did happen was some relief of shame and guilt. Although they remained limerent, they no longer felt abnormal.

What can be done about it should you find yourself in the role of nonlimerent [limerent object]? Limerence has only one answer: Do whatever is necessary to eliminate any trace of hope.

Nonlimerants don’t know about that. They don’t know how you can’t control your own thought.

And so it goes.

Email searches always seem to bring up more than I asked for.

this may not be an appropriate response but,

i’m really wild about you. everything that you’re struggling with here are additional reasons why.

As per usual, differentiating comments about which M I’m referring to snipped to protect the innocent from the internet while still allowing myself to be meaty.

you know i resent that people don’t respect and appreciate you as you deserve to be. people are dang fools and i won’t stand for it!

And you may ask yourself-well…how did I get here?

I don’t really ask myself anymore. I’ve long accepted (told myself) that relationships are two people and I have no control over the other half. I often think about what I would say, and in my head (which is bizarro-land) it is usually “I have nothing left to say”. All I have to say right now is, fucking ouch.

“I feel guilty, that I should like you more than I do because you are so nice.”

I’d like to think that I’ve gotten better at keeping my mouth shut and not spewing emotion out it when I automatically feel the desire, well maybe except at 1am from a bar (1, 2, 3).  The Draft entries in my gmail stare back at me though. It’s still okay to write them if you never send them right? It really isn’t so much that I think I should learn to bottle it up, that is for the best, it is that no one wants to hear it without reluctance in the way that I want to reciprocate. Under those circumstances, it does feel for the best to write to myself, go for a ride, or meet someone for a drink. Distractions until I pass the apex of the emotion.

What is behind the irrationality that seizes otherwise reasonable human beings, forcing them to set aside other goals and strivings and to focus on a single other individual , who may be of little interest prior to limerance and also of little interest afterward?

I recall reading early in the book about and identifying with  Love and Limerance having thoughts, even fantasies, of tragic events bringing two people together. On the ride home today, I was thinking about the americanized version of High Fidelity, and how the death of Laura’s father brought her back to Rob. I’d be really interested in why the choice was made to write the script that way, doubly so because it is so different from the original book.

The therapist made a number of comments today about thinking more actively about allowing myself to be loved, as to help steer away from the trend of relationships where I give too much and I’m actively loved for being who I am. I keep thinking about that and I want to be defensive about it. I guess I need to let it sit and stew for a while.

Too much judgment, maybe too much jealousy, I feel content about my place, but I’m pretty sure I need to step further back and let more lay where it lands without my influence.

So I go to a bar,
looking for that boy.
That’ll change my world,
but all I find when I get home.
I’m drunk and alone.

you left me to my lonesome self.

I was up too late last night,
with the lights down low with the lights down low and a bottle by my side,
wondering if you’d call me up to talk.

alone in the rain, and she never came.

And the time between at a barstool,
is the time that I like best.
My hellbound heart,
won’t give me rest.

That’s the key you know, going out of your way when you don’t have to. It is kind of funny when you can’t be bothered to go out of your way when you merely should.

Something about the chilly ride south to the Hurricane was familiar. Hard to tell. Probably from remembering riding here from the Monkey because she was grumpy, stubborn and selfish.

What do I want? I’m just being, I’m always okay. It keeps me safe and everyone wins. Can’t get the eye to stop twitching. I really should quit drinking and take a vacation.

Here I am, 1am on a Monday, alone at a 24 hour diner, drinking coffee and whiskey, waiting on food. Something feels right about it though and I wonder how much is pre-written. Another drink, ready for more heads down at work. This is it for now.

Fucking eye.

Back to finishing up Love and Limerance now that I’ve finished This I Believe. Chapter 7, “Limerance and Biology” begins with a few quotes throughout time commenting on the object of Love not being one that you get to choose. This should be a pretty meaningful chapter, specifically with my more recent ruminations of leveraging love or limerance to kick off a relationship and then using companionship and/or attachment in second gear. There exists this [social?] implication that eventually all relationships come to a point of “true love” where ones care for another motivates them rather than attraction or limerance.

She was definitely scared that I had fallen in love with her, and uncomfortable with the word “love” being used. I can appreciate that, I think I’ve been there, but it wasn’t anything she wanted to talk about. I’m still sort of dumb-founded when people ask if I’m willing to talk to them about a subject. I feel inside like I have a giant open sign blinking on my chest at all times and that it’s obvious that I am.

Events of late give heed to the need for some restorative introspection. I was thinking I was going to make it to a Tuesday without feeling like I broke down: wishful thinking.

Too many topics for pronouns today. That’s okay, I’ve got a whole fucking alphabet; I realize there are a half dozen close M’s in my history now alone. It was funny the last time I heard through the grapevine that one of them was told I was writing about them on assumption, now it’s absurd. I’m concretely at the point where there is no time of day for those who are more interested in scandals of others than their lives.

Showered and wearing the jeans S gave me. They’re a tad large, like most of my pants as of late. Is that far enough back? No, of course not. I can’t help but feel like I was care-free then, even though the circumstances of our break-up assure me I was the same as I ever was. Eons ago, so much life has been lived in Seattle. The last time I talked to M she still seemed to imply some credit for everything that I’ve achieved. There was another comment made recently that I have it well, and sure, I do, but I’m still really uncomfortable with the implication that I haven’t worked hard for and earned at least the difference between the years. Forrest Gump was wrong, life is a lot like Snakes and Ladders.

How am I? Struggling. So tired, worn, trying so hard, against my better judgement. The uneasiness is my experience speaking. But how to differentiate it from fear? I’ve been assuming all of the later for so long, sticking my neck out, telling myself someone has to. No, telling myself that is what I have to do. I feel like I have so little left to give and I need to take shelter beneath what I’m good at and shield my heart from the beating it receives when I find I have once again stepped out into the weather under-protected.

I’ve had everything with L sorted out for some time, at least the best I could be expected to achieve alone. A asks if being hurt so badly is affecting other relationships and I honestly deny it; I don’t hold the transgression of trust against anyone else. She also offers a new angle, one of being punished for being vulnerable. Certainly not consciously, but I can see that. And what of the trust? Like I said, two burned bridges. My human decency keeps me in line in person, or maybe it was the whiskey. No, the latter only reduces my own anxiety. Discussion forces me to compare relationships, but there isn’t a common thread. I don’t know what else to say about that without unintentionally sounding reminiscent.

Not too long ago I mentioned cautiousness. I wouldn’t say my mind has changed since then, perhaps refined. This experience reminds me to trust my instincts more in the future.

When L e-dumped me, I looked back to the end of times with M. I recalled how hard I tried and how much pain I bore to try to make everything right by her. I also thought about how with no effort any longer on her part and the distance, without the opportunity to love her, the damage done settled on her like dust. The feelings, special that they were, stayed, the trust left over time. I tried to communicate to L that this would happen. She missed my efforts entirely, saying during round two that she figured we’d date other people for a while and then date again. For near a half a year I’ve been quoting “I’ll let it pass and hold my tongue.”

I gave up dating a week or two ago. I don’t know, time, I’ve had no sense of it for a while now. I don’t expect it to ever come back. The hurt is at a totally manageable level, but I’m out of steam. M keeps bringing up that we should be dating with a question mark at the end, and I feel like I’m doing everyone a disservice by not completing that conversation but I simply don’t have that much to give.

Per the recommendations of J, I’ve explored breaking the relative mold with dating A. While much care and concern… empathy, have developed, I feel like I’m spending more time uncomfortable than comfortable. Part of the mold was dating outside my usual type, and thus further exploring the angle of starting a relationship without so much infatuation. Conversation cornered me, as I mentioned, into delving into the course of my relationship with L. Somehow I had forgotten about my caution of taking the relationship slow, and how she had eventually commented on that door remaining shut only of my own volition. Apparently I should have continued trusting my instincts and not my desires. Which just goes to show that excluding the fears of being burdensome, I had another opportunity to trust myself and remain on track and on pace with my instincts. It’s clearer now I’m looking for a relationship more particular than I once thought. More identity has also been outlined and some cancerous portions tagged for manipulation, particularly spending my time-product with more meaning, even if it is does sound less fun.

More comments have been made by A, J and others about my heart. Some comments were made about lamenting the situation, which is not a comment L made but for some interesting reason keeps feeling like she did. My gut reaction is one of feeling tired of being a nice guy stereotype. That’s unfair of me.

So I’m laying low as best I can. I’m leveraging a crush from a distance because it’s low-impact and helps keep me up through all of this. It’s great to feel like I can be appreciated without feeling like I’m consistently failing someone’s expectations, feeling like perhaps, for once in my life (shut up), that they’re more worried about me than I am about them. As I attack the FOMO, focus on work, reading, and creating, I rebound from the feeling that the last six months have been a consistent failure at being a positive influence on the life of anyone special.