GQ w/ AB: A long, way too serious post.

Underneath my impregnable persona is a man struggling to find himself, struggling to feel comfortable in a world that is not fair. How is it possible that I feel this way, having grown up in a white upper-middle class environment, never having to worry about money, paying for college, car insurance, clothing.

I often wish I was like the vast majority of PTP members and inhabitants of society in general, ignorant of perils and pitfalls, impulsive in nature. Life would be so much easier, wouldn’t it, at least for awhile? I’d like to live a few days in your shoes; get a fatty, sugary, $5 concoction, marketed perfectly to my feeble mind by Starbucks. We could shoot the shit and discuss the most important issue facing our country: Jamie Lynn Spears’ pregnancy. No need to worry about love, because love doesn’t exist, it is simply infatuation and lust. This just sounds so grand to me, now, when I sit and think about my relationships with people, and how utterly worthless some of them are.

This whole idea has manifested itself so much lately in my life, especially in my dating sagas. Many of you have read some of my posts about women I’m seeing. But here’s one that’s really bothering me at the moment. This girl, let’s call her Ashley, is physically just what I like in a girl. And she’s very nice, caring, and I really like hanging out with her. The sex is very good too. But at the same time, I know I could never be anything more to her than a Jerry Maguire to her Dorothy Boyd early in their marriage. I could really like her a lot, but I know I could never love her. Perhaps I’m incapable of love. Don’t take this the wrong way, or think I’m too cocky for my own good, but I think I may be too smart for love. Ashley wants more from me, and I know I’d just disappoint her.

I’ve never believed in love at first sight, and even less so the notion that there is only one woman in the world for every man. I probably will get married within the next 15 years, and if I don’t change, I can guarantee that I’ll cheat on her. And really, that’s a horrible way to treat someone.

I’ve talked a lot with people, men and women, about this question: would you rather be in a relationship where you love the other person more, or the other way around? I was in a four-year relationship where I thought I was on equal footing with her, but it turns out I cared a lot more about her than she did for me. At the end, this hurt more than any pain I had ever felt in my life, and six months later, it hasn’t started to fade. I think I’m numb to emotion that I experience; I’ve over-analyzed my “feelings” to the point that they are no more than chemical imbalances to me.

I’m sick of going through the motions with women, and people in general. I’m a pretty smooth-talker, and I pull off the “lovable asshole” to perfection, and I can get women, but maybe not the right type for me. I’ll get smashed at a bar, go home with a perfectly nice girl, and hate myself and my actions every minute, but this act of going through the motions at least allows me to feel like I’m living, even if I feel hollow during the whole experience.

Where do I go from here? How do I regain my passion? Who knows. I’m sure it will happen eventually, it HAS to. Maybe I’ll discover some sort of spirituality. Maybe I will meet that perfect woman. Come on “life,” prove me wrong!

-AB