The Tacky World Of Full-time Victims

There is a certain class of people who have jinxed all possibilities of a fruitful and satisfying love life. There is no hope for them in terms of full-fledged relationships – they lack the necessary equipment and are limited to bouncing from one futile rebound caper to another – and to a series of breakups and one-night stands.

They are the victims – the ones whose loves lives are little more than self-fulfilling prophesies of doom. At a subconscious level, they have judged themselves to be flawed. For whatever reason, they do not see themselves as anything worth relating to, falling in love with and cherishing.

It may be because their parents told them they are useless; it may be because they have chronic sexual performance anxiety; it may be because they are the ignored younger siblings of a sexpot sister or hunky brother; it may be because they simply have no life. Whatever the reason is, they do not see a love relationship as a desirable destination – the only thing that fascinates them is the dubious pleasure of a perilous journey down a thorn-raddled road.

Such as state of self is, of course, an untenable thing to allow to percolate into complete awareness. One likes to believe, after all, that one is basically better than everyone else, only misunderstood – a gem consistently mistaken to be an ugly piece of rock. We can’t have ourselves owning up to the fact that we are somehow at FAULT, now can we? After all, we have to live with ourselves even if nobody else wants to. We have to look in that mirror and see someone we can respect, don’t we?

No, we can’t. And even though we know for a fact (deep down there where there’s no escape from the truth) that our current outlook on life has rendered us mangled goods, we got to go through the motions of getting into a relationship, now don’t we? After all, all life’s a stage, we’re all actors on it and EVERYONE’S WATCHING TO SEE HOW WE PERFORM, right? Nobody has anything better to do, right?

Also, there’s this yammering little aspect down there below the belt that won’t shut up no matter HOW much we tell it that it’s no use, that it’s just gonna have to starve to death ‘cause Daddy/Mommy doesn’t have what it takes to provide. Yessir, it’s the good old human sex drive – and no, it won’t shut up. The sex drive is a brainless thing and doesn’t care about any conflicts between what you are, your self-perception and the way people actually react to you. It just says “GIMME” and sure enough, there you go… looking for a relationship you have already condemned to death even before it is born.

When a victim gets into a relationship, everything seems fine and dandy in the beginning. The unsuspecting partner often does sense something sinister squirming below the surface, but usually passes it off as a very understandable nervous reaction to his/her patented sex appeal (my dad used to tell me of the perfect business model – buy someone for what he’s worth and sell him for what he THINKS he’s worth, and you’ll ALWAYS make a profit.)

Two months down the line, both the victim and the victim’s victim have a situation. The victim has his/her true act onstage by then – the act of a self-perceived loser trying to justify yet another loss by putting the blame of the rapidly unraveling situation on the other. The victim’s victim is spending a large chunk off time fending of inexplicable arrows dispatched from inexplicable positions in true guerilla style. The victim’s victim has probably gone through a period of serious self-doubt by then – “Am I really such a bastard / bitch?”, “Were those really my intentions?”

More often than not, the victim’s victim has a better perception of himself/herself than the victim, and eventually tells the victim to take his/her pitiful martyr act and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. Bingo, alone again. “The prophecy has been fulfilled once more, Lawd – how could I ever doubt you? I will NEVER question your will for me again – and I know your will is that I spend my life miserable and alone.”

For such people, repeatedly generated abstinence from everything that makes life worth living, finally becomes not only a necessity, but a virtue of some kind. “Here I am on my cross, crucified for the sins of than sonofabitch / bitch who doesn’t know how to treat a woman / man right. This is my purpose in life. This is what I born for. Look upon me, all you sinners – see how you made the innocent, blameless suffer.”

I am reminded of a phenomenon that the media have observed here in India – that of professional refugees. India is a largish piece of real estate that is prone to all sorts of natural disasters. In fact, because political greed eats into a large chunk of funds allotted to technological safeguards, it is prone to man-made disasters as well. Fairly spectacular shit hits the fan every now and then – tsunamis, earthquakes, gas leaks, communal riots, you name it, we have it on our calendar this year. Of course, whatever Government happens to be top dog at these times announces that it is dispensing relief to the victims.

Well, certain reporters have noted the fact that the many familiar faces seem to turn up at each disaster site, just in time to lap up the Government goodies. These are professional refugees who keep track of such events and make sure they’re there to stand up and be counted.

What has that got to do with our relationship victims, you ask? Plenty. There’s a payoff for being a doomed love martyr – you get to wallow in loads of self-pity, can absolve yourself of many of the activities of daily living because you are ‘depressed’, and have a ready catchment of like-minded wet ends who will gladly sit down to wail with you that all men are bastards / all women are bitches.

It’s amazing – and frightening – how many relationships break over clashes of relating ‘styles’. You don’t have a style, you say? Think again.

If you have a father and mother or an overbearing or underdog brother or sister, you have a relationship style based on your family baggage. By that, I mean that your entire LIFE - including your relationships – is likely to be modeled on trying to either extend or negate those influences.

If you have either a highly successful career or a record for getting consistently kicked off jobs, you probably have a style based on either an unrealistically high self-image, or the typical frustration of a loser. And a style in relationships is always bad news, because it’s also a rut.

The Rise And Fall Of A Relationship

That’s sort of sad, because most relationships start of well. Let’s take the man-woman angle, for instance. The initial attraction in such a relationship is based entirely on visual attraction and a corresponding sexual response. I’m here to say that this is probably the purest state, and that the relationship world would be in much better shape if the whole ballgame stayed there from beginning to end.

It doesn’t, of course. The relationship ascends from the genitals to the heart after that. Beside the fact that this ascension is necessary if the relationship is to be worth more than a few weeks of wrestling in the hay, this is basically where the trouble begins.

Hearts connect, and the partners start connecting their futures and emotional well-being to each others’. The initial rush of mush is thick enough to camouflage most other considerations.

Would relationships survive if everything stayed at this stage? Probably. Don’t take my word for it, but it’s possible. Mush takes two, just like the tango – one to shovel it out and another to swallow it. If both partners are your basic imbeciles, this sticky transaction can continue indefinitely. I know of some pretty resilient low IQ/EQ marriages that are based completely on treacle.

But it doesn’t end there either, of course. Once the relationship has devoured the heart, it rises further to the brain. The problem here is that the brain is the seat of the mind, and the human mind is at best a society-mangled doggie that sees the little street corner it does its business on as something worthy of fierce and uncompromising protection. And the mind, like the doggie, has teeth to do this with. The teeth are the Ego.

Ego – The Haunted Monkey On Your Back

What has love got to do with the ego? Everything. We wouldn’t fall in love if we didn’t need the egoistical gratification of being in love. We pursue (and allow ourselves to be pursued) because the ego wants to either conquer or prove to itself and the world at large that it figures pretty high in the market demand sweepstakes.

The ego DOES figure in the initial sexual yammerings that bring men and women together in the first place, but only marginally. Getting laid without anyone knowing of it is still better than not getting laid at all, but being in a (drum-roll and fanfare, please) RELATIONSHIP can never be something we want to keep off Page 3 – and the bargaining table - altogether.

What has all this to do with styles? Everything.

The ego is the home of all relationship styles. Our ego is the mutilated bastard child of our past experiences. It spends its entire shelf life either dragging gathered impressions along with it or running away from them. The result? A style.

This style dictates how we relate to our lovers, kids, bosses, friends, the beggar on the street and the doggie baring its fangs at us over its rightful garbage can. Nature being what it is, our style will first attract others who share that particular can of worms, and then repel them when they start seeing too much of themselves in it. The result? A nuked relationship.

Kiaiiii!!

Is there a way out of this? I think there is. I’m reminded of Bruce Lee’s last movie – The Game of Death. It was a pathetic effort, but it did have a neat message hidden in the mess. Lee finds himself in a building where every floor is dominated by a master of one particular martial art style. You have your fundamental judo master, then your karate master, then your Tae-kwon-do master and happy stuff like that… all the way to the top.

Lee takes a brief moment to figure out each master’s chosen style before proceeding to turn them into chop suey. It’s just a matter of identifying the style in question, finding its loopholes (EVERY style has a slew of those) and wading in there. His problems begin when he reaches the top floor. This one is presided over the Man With No Styles (for some strange reason played by yesteryear basketball champ, Abdul Kareem Jabbar). This man keeps Lee at bay easily, because the fact that he has no style offers no loopholes. Old Lee is soon at his wits’ end, but finally does manage to get some key kicks and punches in, to cut Jabbar down to size.

The point is – if you have a style, you’re vulnerable (not to mention predictable). If you base your relationships on a style, those relationships are as screwed as the hides of two equally hungry and savage doggies, who have decided that they’re going to lunch off the same heap of offal. They’re going to jib, jab, feint and attack, and finally one will find the fatal flaw in the others’ style and lay his guts out for general inspection on the pavement.

Ridding Yourself Of Relationship Styles

If you know your fatal relationship style, sit down with pen and paper one weekend and figure out how you got it. Your ego will scream and whimper in protest. Put it in the garbage can where it belongs, sit on the lid and keep working.

Once you’ve figured out whom in your past you’re getting back at when you tell your boyfriend that he should stop invading your space, or your daughter that she should stop trying to manipulate you, you can drag your style out of its lair and beat it to the death.

How do you relate to others without a style? By the seat of your pants – and that’s always the best way. You take each moment and situation as it comes, tell your natural reactions to take a long hike and instead react in a matter that is appropriate to the moment and the situation.

For instance, your girlfriend will eventually tell you that you aren’t attentive enough to her (they all do at some point in time). When you hear her say the words, something will crawl out from the baggage room where you store your past experiences and impressions.

It may be your long-dead father, reiterating his axiom that women should always be reminded of their humble place in the scheme of things. It may be your sister, reminding you of how she’s always said that you’re a self-centered dork – need any more proof? It may be your childhood buddy, telling you that not paying attention to your girl is the only way of keeping her interested in you – worked fine for him back then. It may be your first flame, telling you that you’re incapable of caring for a woman, and that you’re a pathetic excuse for a man.

Well, your girlfriend doesn’t know you’ve had all those inputs along the way. All she’s said is that you’re being inattentive to her. But there you go, rising up in righteous wrath against the whispering ghosts of your past. You turn on your GF and let fly at her every arrow that you’ve ever wanted to shoot your dad, sister or first flame. Or you reach back and shake the hand of your childhood buddy (who’s probably all alone in the world right now, thanks to his exemplary attitude towards women) and say, “Thanks for the advice, Sam – here’s where I use it.”

You shove all those ghosts right back down there and listen to what your girl is saying. And you react from the present moment. YOU react, not some shyster specter from the past. You, without a style based on past impressions, are a fresh, new man… and you will surprise yourself with unsuspected depths of maturity, empathy and genuine caring when you’ve managed to become that.

Because this process takes a while, a person without relationship styles must necessarily wait a long moment before opening his or her mouth before responding to dicey relationship situations. But the end result is pretty good. The mouth doesn’t fly off the handle so easily. Pride doesn’t yelp like a kicked cur every time the partner criticizes. The hand doesn’t jump as easily to the wallet in an automatic reflex of past guilt or ongoing approval-seeking issues.

Believe me, it’s worth trying out…