If there were such a thing, my name would be Dr Erica P PhD in Lame Duckery.
That makes me smile.
My relationship history is just one long catalogue of disasters.
Before I was married, I only had relationships with men who obsessed about being with ex-girlfriends, or who obsessed about having relationships with unobtainable girls.
One of the all time break-up lines I had to endure was:
‘ I love Sharon, she looks like a boy, and she lets me f*** her in the arse’
I have had two marriages, one was happier than the other, both split, because yes, that lure of another.
And so, this pattern continues.
You would think at my age, I would know better!
My recent foray into ‘coupledom’ was with a man of a similar age, who truly believes that his only path to happiness is with a woman who made his life a misery for 10 years. So much so that he feels that without her he could never be happy, and has chosen isolation and self pity over jolly japes and romps with me.
I did for many years choose to believe that my bad luck in finding a suitable mate was due to an inherent un-loveableness. However, the past few weeks has shown me a side of the coin that I had not hitherto considered. The path of my destruction may in fact be due to my horrendous addiction to people-pleasing. I just want the whole world to be happy, unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to include me. I must have been at the back of the self-love queue!
I am currently seeing a therapist about my most recent fall from grace, and really she is being very helpful.
Apparently, I suffer from a syndrome called ‘Attachment Disorder’, which is complex and can be very debilitating.
In my case, I do not suffer from some of the greater ravages of this mental health issue, as apart from my love life, I have led quite a happy and successful life.
But where love is concerned, my modus operandi is to seek out broken souls who I try to support with loving kindness and gentleness, where what they really need is a massive boot in the arse with dainty size 38’s ( even better if they were enclosed in a sturdy pair of Doc Marten’s).
You see the form of the syndrome that is my speciality is my fear of abandonment, so subliminally, I choose as partners those who will inevitable tell me that the ‘gig is up, aufwiedersehen’.
I have though, due to some very skilful head-shrinking, realised that I have the power to do something about this unfortunate kink in my personality I have
- I could feel sorry for myself, and drink/drug myself to death, but having researched addiction, Stage IV Liver Disease has severely limited attractions.
- I could with grace, style and finesse bow out of the game and live happily with a dog and Netflix as my companions and best friends. I love dogs, and films, but dogs have limited intellectual ability, and films of the kind I like best, can make you angry, bitter and twisted. I feel somehow that the self pity poor me game would not work to my best advantage.
- I could develop a more pragmatic attitude towards sex, and get my kicks from meet-ups through dating sites. This would require a certain amount of backbone and immunity to rejection. I feel that this option would only serve to increase the symptoms of my affliction.
- Alternatively, I could build my own dating site for nearly-grannies whose best friends are their pets and Netflix. Now there’s a thought!
- Or I could re-evaluate my attitude, build up my resilience and work at becoming so emotionally healthy that I can spot a lame duck at within a 100 mile radius, and shoot the fucker before it shits on my head.
I choose option 5
Below is a useful link that will help to explain Attachment Disorder and points to some more academic texts if that is what floats your boat.
Once again thanks to Tony Bologna for his brilliant article on 9 ways to hate yourself a little less