If you meet someone and you fall in love, run the other way.
When it happens you do the exact opposite.
You jump right into the wide open jaws of the fluffy Beast with the razor sharp claws.
I had just finished teaching a class at a bank.
There were options for a romantic date in Bratislava written on the flipchart.
She – not my student – walked into one of the meeting rooms/classroom of the big corporation.
I usually don’t strike up conversations with strangers unless I have an ironclad reason.
I had no reason to talk to her.
But I had every urge.
I don’t remember who spoke the first word.
She blew me off my socks immediately.
Long black curly hair. Firm, athletic legs up to her armpits.
And eyes that spoke of intelligence and depth.
And a complicated personality.
Not a nasty personality, actually a wonderful personality, but complicated.
Maybe, as she claimed, part of it was that I felt that I could make her happy.
Maybe that would heal my masculinity: to make an exclusive, very hard to get, educated, bright and VERY demanding woman happy.
With some people you just know they’re smart, that they care about what happens in the world, that they notice stuff, that they’re competent, that they have
This lady had heart.
I had no reason to linger in that classroom. I had to go to my next assigment.
I didn’t ask her name or anything.
But I walked out
I was really thinking I didn’t want to live anymore if I were never to see her again.
I mean, that’s just bat shit crazy, I know, but that’s how it felt.
It was a Wednesday, and the feeling lasted all through the week, all through the weekend.
So I tracked her down. It wasn’t all that hard. She has a very unique look.
It took me till the 8th of March to finally get in touch with her.
In some kind of do or die twist I got her some chocolates for international women’s days and some other little things to show, ehm, appreciation.
Eventually we started a marathon conversation that only ever stopped when we fell asleep, and even then we regularly dreamt about each other.
It never ceases to amaze me how two total strangers can overnight become like the focal point of each other’s attention.
Unexpected feelings arose. Unwanted visitors. Emotional mosquitoes.
I got jealous any time she barely mentioned a guy.
A feeling I hadn’t experienced for since all the way back in 2008.
I had forgotten the disgustingly bitter taste of it.
I had the line from a Nirvana song in my head all the time:
‘I will keep fighting jealousy until it’s fucking gone.’
I treated her like a Goddess. At least I think I treated her like a goddess, it was certainly one of the intention that got me shackled to her, enthralled by her.
I would dare to say that if you’d ask her, she’d agree I treated her like a Goddess.
It scared the living daylights out of her. And at the same time she kinda liked it too. She even got used to it. Like a luxury you never asked for, but got really easily comfortable with once it was there.
From morning till evening we were in touch. We had fun, I must say. I made her laugh. I got creative. I was intoxicated by her. High. In seventh heaven. Writing and talking to her with a dumb, drunk, eternal grin on my face. It was scary. And juicy. And puzzling. And confusing. And manic. And like the world blossomed again.
She was my drug.
And boy, it was potent.
I saw her legs, her long hair, and her cheerful, but subtily exclusive, impenetrable – if one paid attention – vibe in front of my eyes, non-stop.
I asked myself the inevitable therapeutic question.
What do her long shapely legs symbolize to me?
And that’s just her legs.
The whole package captivated me.
To me she was potential bursting free, ready to make her mark on the world.
Fluent in a ton of languages. Interested in many different topics. Ambitious. Ever polite and respectful. Very clear in communication. Funny.
And the energy.
She was a fire ball of energy.
And an introvert.
Hard to get close to.
And I had time.
Gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed saepe cadendo.
I was convinced this was the woman to inspire me to be the best version of me.
And that’s huge.
That’s the essence of it.
Someone to give me the impulse to throw caution to the wind and to just do anything at all to shine. To shine brightly side by side.
And then the feeling got just too much to handle.
Wondering where she was if I didn’t hear from her from half an hour.
Losing my mind at the thought that she was out with some guy.
On the one hand genuinely cheering her on, being happy for her, when other guys complimented her, but dreading the idea that, hey, maybe that might steal her away.
This feeling of wanting to have someone just for me. A feeling quite foreign and despicable to me. Childish.
So in the end I pushed her away.
Which is a decision I will have to live with.
And it leaves me wondering, why she?
How could I become so instantly addicted to her?
It couldn’t be just her physical beauty, although that played a big role.
If she had looked exactly the same, but without the brains, without the fire, I would have just stored a mental image of her somewhere in my memory and I certainly wouldn’t have done anything to get in touch with her.
I have this idea that when we fall in love, we fall in love with someone who has or displays or symbolizes the qualities we would want to have.
So in this case I wanted to be what?
I’m convinced she will become rich.
Well-connected, moving in well to do circles?
More rational? She’s very rational. She can easily block out what she’s feeling.
Of course, falling in love, like with any use of a drug, must really be about
feeling whole, feeling complete.
I would have done anything to be close to her, because of the feeling that with her I felt suddenly complete.
The pain I carry with me, the pain I run away from in lots of different ways, constantly, was gone with her.
I would have had to turn my life entirely upside down – again!- to be with her.
I had done that before, years ago, and it didn’t turn out well.
She had my messed up past against her.
It will be one of life’s roads not taken.
Apparently I have a deep desire to struggle to make a very exceptional and very demanding woman happy.
When a woman is too available to me, too easy to satisfy, I lose focus. I feel incomplete.
I need the struggle.
I need a demanding Goddess to worship, to strife for, to rise above myself to make her happy.
To be Mr Perfect for Mrs Perfect.
Am guessing it’s a need rooted in trauma.
Growing up feeling you are not enough.
And to find a Goddess, somebody exceptional, and then to make her happy, not just a little, but over the moon happy. So happy all her female friends, all her female colleagues would tell her they wished they had a guy who did all that stuff for her. At least one of them actually did tell her that.
And then, final restoration. The blissful feeling of being enough, of being a giant of a man. Her happiness as proof.
I decided to build – even more? – self-awareness and to really get to the bottom of this.
Why do I have this need to worship a woman?
I mean, sure, it’s cute, it’s romantic, I did enough creative stuff to make her feel special, to make her smile, to fill a novel, but it does make me wonder.
Do I really feel so incomplete?
So lacking in pride of who I am that I need to bring offerings to the altar of a woman I spotted to capable of filling the role of Goddess?
She is for sure special, she has very strong values, a perceptive, fast learning mind and a fiery spirit you won’t meet so often.
But there’s something wrong with me.
Cause it’s also the repetition of a pattern.
I store Zuzi’s pictures in a Facebook album called Czarina.
It’s just that closeness, intimacy, familiarity, and her almost insane devotion to me doesn’t go well with God-like stature. Gods tend to be… absent. Distant. Unattainable.
The person who deserves my devotion, often gets only a piece of it. A smaller piece that she should get.
And it’s highly ironic, cause all through her crazy adventures with me, Zuzi certainly displays all the qualities of a deity, I can assure you that.
It’s a symptom of an illness, rooted in trauma.
If Zuzi has one ‘fault’, it’s that she is not messed up enough. She has no trauma big enough to gel well with my own fucked upness. She’s my firm ground and I am the out of control sea crashing in to things, exploring, and she is the earth, to give me some shape, when one of my storms calms down again.
The only thing I can say in my defense is that, well, she is never bored with me. Exhausted, yes, but not bored. It’s like she is the head of her own little mental institution, with one very complicated, frustrating, but at times also very giving, stimulating and surprising, creative patient.
I don’t know if many people can say this, but I can say that one person has truly accepted me the way I am, warts and all.
Outsiders never really understand us, though some seem to intuitively feel that they should not ever try to understand it.
So I have jumped into depression again, by giving up my chosen Goddess, for the first time willingly cut off my drug supply.
There is loving women, and I do, more than anything on this planet, but there is also addiction. And the two are not the same.
And it’s time to really work on that.