No...just no.

All my life I’ve cared more about people than they have cared about me. Many will disagree because they've noted my aloofness and logical approach to life – but they are wrong. I’m aloof outwardly because I’m constantly worried about others internally. I’m logical because I (perhaps mistakenly) think that it’s the best thing (for them).

My Girls, Girls, Girls blog is filled with tons of instances where I loved people for who they were and who they could be but they either became random or became obsessed. Random because they weren't all there mentally and obsessed because they loved an idea.

I've said this to a few people in the past – all have disagreed – but I seriously believe that every girl who’s been obsessed with me feel in love with an idea and feeling, not me. They loved how I made them feel, they fell for the idea that they could feel that forever – if only they could keep me. Not only keep me – own me. But they were wrong.

None of them ever loved me – even the ones who still claim it. They don’t love me. They love how I make them feel – they love that I listen to them – validate them – respect them. But me? Do they love me – the real me? No!

Most of them don’t even know me – all they know are the words and actions that they associate with me. The words and actions that make them feel warm and fuzzy. The words and actions they wish to control and own to make them feel relevant in this cold world.

Now here’s the crazy part -  I was secretly encouraging that. When I was younger I was a diamond (girl’s best friend) and all I was there for was to make women feel better by being the captain of their friendzone. Later I became a king and suddenly what they needed to love was not me – but my kingdom. Provided they served the kingdom they could stay -  they never needed to know the king. All they needed to do was show loyalty to the crown.

As the Despot King I was even more removed from reality – I wasn’t a person you could fall in love with, I was a just a menace that you could submit to. Women fell for the pleasure in the midst of threat. Like the attractiveness of the vampire love story they fell for the idea that I was this heartless asshole who could see them. Suddenly there was an asshole in their life who actually saw them, acknowledged them, treated them well and made them feel good.

Whichever past incarnation – the women all just loved this fiction. Illusion – idea – fallacy…phallacy. Drunk in their own desire to feel validated by a (bad) man they deluded themselves into thinking that they loved me. Yet none of them did.

It hurts me to admit that – to admit that I have loved women who have said the same but felt some warm fuzziness about an idea – not the real me. I hate it. I hate that I knew their most intimate fears and desires but most of them didn't even understand what I did for a living let alone what I felt inside.

And you want to know what’s even worse…some of them even asked! They asked me; What do you fear? What do you desire? What do you do? Who are you? But when I answered – they didn't understand. And instead of asking for clarity they just pretended to get it. They were too afraid to admit they didn't get it because in their heads they had created this illusion of me being this strict intellectual who punishes anyone who doesn't get convoluted theorems instantly (not to say that I was convoluted).

I didn't want to look stupid. I didn't want to appear weak. I was scared and nervous but I couldn't admit it. I heard these and many other things from women only after I had broken up with them. The threat of losing their perfect illusion emboldened them to finally speak openly but often it was too little and too late.

For years I blamed myself for them feeling like that. I was too hard on them – too cold – too high handed. Something – anything to make it my fault and not theirs. And yes I suppose the blame is mine – I said it once or twice but quickly retracted it. I said it but was worried about what it meant -  even now I want to say it but I’m nervous.

My fault was in seeking out and indulging the weak. The world we live in is all about freedoms and support. The push for civic rights for all has made it almost offensive to seek something strong and ideal. You need to just accept everything and everyone – even if they aren't right for you. And so I accept beta women’s bullshit, indulged them their pathetic weaknesses -  all because somewhere in the recesses of my mind I was worried that perhaps to desire an alpha was wrong.

I heard it enough times - "there's not such thing as a strong woman", "women aren't strong all the time", "you need to accept the vulnerability in order to see the strength." I've heard these and many excuses and lies by people who want to justify their own weakness. 

Perhaps seeking a truly strong woman is some form of male privilege. Seeking the the perfect woman at "the expense of regular women" is privilege, right? 

Well let me be gladly wrong and privileged then - I'm not going to accept D-rate women under some nonsense belief that all women are weak under the veneer of perfection or strength. Someone else can love betas and D-rates - not me. Not ever. 

Now this isn't only limited to romantic relationships – oh no. This is linked to friendships also – I have already blogged about friendships that have dissolved because people couldn't have common human decency. These people are just like the girls I dated – they were my friend because of an idea they had about me, not because they actually knew me.

Well no more – no more shall I expend my heart’s energy on love and care for people who have no idea about me. I don’t have the time nor the energy – not now, not ever again.