So how was falling out of love going today? Well, i felt a little betrayed—since, for a long time, i felt that, because Anna had been engaged forever—with no date in sight, she was secretly waiting for me—her telepathic soulmate, and now, after a sufficient amount of time in which no progress had been made, I’d realized that—yes, she’s meant to be my president, and no, she’s not the right person for me. Was i pissed at Anna, though, or was I pissed at God? And, in fact, if i imagined my God to be a female God that appeared to me in the form of whatever woman i happened to love, was being angry at Anna the same thing as being angry at God? I figured that, in fact, was not the case, since, for a time, although Anna might have been a representation of my God, by this time, now, she, in fact, had fallen short of that pedestal.
Now, I might ask myself: if I expect my woman to be the embodiment of God, similar, in a way, to how people might say that Jesus is the embodiment of God, how could any woman ever live up to my expectations? I can’t answer that—I can only invest myself in that which, for whatever reasons, inspires feeling of love in me. For a time, I felt that way about Anna, but something I realized, was wrong—but I guess the crux of the biscuit is that, in the telepathic time that we spent together, regardless of how she might’ve felt about me, she was the right person for me—she fulfilled a purpose. She made me believe that love is possible for me, that I might find someone that I love, and that loves me, in the future. That was a big deal. But it was over, now, and I was pissed because she didn’t turn out to be the solution to my problems. She turned out, instead, to belong to another man—a man that I might’ve assumed that, I, in part, must have been, but, inevitably, a man that, in fact, might have nothing to do with me. Which strengthens my argument—Anna, in fact, is no longer the object of my desire—and the argument might be made that, well, because of, or perhaps not because of, my medication, she never really was.
But I think you can desire someone without feeling worthy enough or successful enough to actually be able to do anything. I think that’s what was going on—on top of the problems the medication was causing. Anna truly was the object of my desire—the whole thing just felt so damn impossible that I couldn’t use her to get off. It just wasn’t believable enough. So what was going on now? Well, I was watching a Swedish show, and, feeling no small attraction for an imperfect blue eyed and blond haired young Swedish woman—someone that, although, I still couldn’t use to get off—again, since the situation wasn’t believable enough, but someone that, in fact, gave me the impression: i am supposed to be with a woman that looks a little like her—a Scandinavian woman that pushes her hair back off her forehead, and, for all intents and purposes, will make a suitable partner and mother.
But what made her suitable? Her blond hair and blue eyes? Her white skin? Well, yes, but it was more than that. At this point I didn’t give a fuck—I’d always wanted a blond with blue eyes for whatever fucking reasons, no matter what those reasons might be, and, at this point, after basically getting rejected by my brown skinned “lover,” I just figured that life is too fucking short not to go after what you really want. But that, of course, posed the problem. That was, probably, at least where I live, an impossible thing to want. So was i prepared to go without a partner, my whole life, waiting, out of sheer desire, if not stubbornness, for the woman that I imagined, necessarily, was my one true love—a love that could only be realized in heaven, a love that, because heaven, to some, doesn’t exist, might, to some, also prove impossible? Was I just kidding myself? About everything? Of course I might think that, since we never get exactly what we want in this life, but I also doubted the notion that heaven did not exist as much as i doubted the notion that it did—hence, belief in a blond haired and blue eyed Scandinavian partner was something I accepted and, indeed, wanted to encourage, since, of course, a life that led to heaven would naturally be more meaningful and happier than a life that, in fact, amounted to nothing.
Now we’d really come to a depressing conclusion, that, well, had a good side and a bad side. The good side was that, given some mental gymnastics that were both degrading and, in the end, both troublesome and problematic, i could, in fact, physically—i was physically capable of having sex with someone that i wanted to have sex with. But the bad side was this: my anonymous, dependent life, made it impossible to believe that any woman that met a sufficient standard to spend time with, a standard that was not as demanding as proving a Scandinavian partner, would find me and or want to spend time with me. It just wasn’t believable enough—which is why I’d ended up imagining all these scenarios that were designed to show me, for example, that, indeed, this imaginary man obviously wants my woman, and, therefore, what am i missing? etc. i was trying to trick myself into feeling actionable desire. So no, my aim, which was to prove a scenario in which I am able to prove a life with a potential partner, was impossible for me to believe, and, therefore, although I might have felt desire for some Scandinavian woman on TV, it wasn’t the kind of desire that applied to my penis. My penis simply understood: “it’s never going to happen, and, therefore, there’s no point.” And, well, my penis would have been right.