Most people who go off to college have an epiphany of freedom and independence that accompanies nascent adulthood, learning how to budget limited funds, and coping with managing your own schedule. Somewhere in between late nights at the library, off-campus parties, and the joys of self-defined political activism we make time for whatever flavor paramour fits our specific needs. These romantic or just sexually driven liaisons are important to fully develop adult level interpersonal communication skills. Of course, there are many other settings and scenarios in college that are also important to the development of communication skills, but the college dating scene is crucial in developing this particular life skill.
Scoff if you must, but I don’t think we really learn how to date until we are cast out in the wilderness into whatever crucible we choose to form ourselves. Time and space, the ability to distance ourselves from the negative influences and crushing criticisms of adolescence and childhood are important to success. Unlike many of my fellow college mates, I did not move away from home and go off into this wilderness to remake myself with the financial and emotional support of a loving family. In many ways, my experience was quite the opposite staying home, working my tail off for a full scholarship, joining the reserve, and taking a part-time job to fully pay tuition, books, insurance, clothes, and even a car. I didn’t stay at home because it was cheaper. I stayed home because of my mother’s unhealthy codependent need to have her daughters under her grasping fingers and influence. My scholarship would have paid for room and board at any university I wanted to attend. In hindsight, I should have headed straight to Florida State University, but life is never exactly what we want or expect it to be so we have to make what we get enough.
So you’re probably wondering by now what the heck living at home has to do with developing interpersonal skills. I don’t blame you, but it really does have a lot to do with not developing those skills until much, much, later in life. My mother, don’t you just know this is a loaded sentence from the way it starts? Anyway, my mother suffered from bipolar disorder and depression, but of course, she was absolutely convinced there was nothing wrong with her it was all of the doctors who were wrong. If you ever find yourself thinking along the lines of hey, I’m really smart and I know better than the doctors what I need, or even the plumber if you’re not a trained plumber, consider the possibility you may be bipolar, narcissistic, depressed or suffering from some mental health issue. I’m not a psychologist or psychiatrist but I can readily identify this pattern. I was raised by a grandmother, mother, aunt, and uncle exemplifying these actions.
Now I’m circling back to my original point, the one I alluded to in the title. I met this man who talked a good game, sounded confident and smart if you didn’t listen too closely or let him talk for too long. We went out on a few dates, spent a lot of time together, and became involved briefly. Which I have no defense for because I could tell by our second date, the one with alcohol where his self-control started slipping, that he might not be as together as he wanted me to think. The first couple of flags he might be a donut short of a dozen was his absolute conviction in the predictive qualities of astrology, palm reading, and other spiritual nonsense. I overlooked this as quaint and cute because he was sexy and kept me entertained.
I am a maven of rational thought firmly convinced of my own dominion over my life. I do not deny there are times people disappoint, events beyond my control occur or catastrophes like a hundred-foot pine tree falling on my house in a hurricane. The difference between our world views is simply this, he is a victim of fates he cannot control. I am inconvenienced to a greater or lesser degree by unplanned events or suboptimal decisions that motivate me to exercise ingenuity and flexibility to resolve whatever roadblock is in my path.
It took about a month and a half for me to give him his walking papers. But really that’s something I should have done after our second date. I saw the writing on the wall, but some distant record playing in my subconscious recognized his tribe as the one in which I was raised. I suppressed my own rejection of my family and ex-husband. At thirty-three, I packed up my four-year-old daughter, our dog, sold the house, and moved from Florida to California. I did not know a single person in California but I did have a job and an apartment. The time I spent out west affirmed I do not require the indiscriminate company of others. My preference is in the company of similarly rational, calm, and steady friends.
The clearest warning indicator pinged when he kept telling me he could envision how events will unfold long before other people. This always ended with a warning that women fall for him because of his sexual nature and say they are in love. I admit I laughed every time he trotted out this line and told him he did not need to worry about me falling in love with him or casting any designs on him that involved marriage or cohabitation. I can’t stand to have roommates, even my daughter and all of her pets are exhausting. She says I have OCD. Most of my friends take off their shoes at the front door like they are walking into their grandparent’s house even though we’re all middle-aged now. So there may be something to the label neat freak.
The breaking point came with his crude attempts to manipulate my emotions. After several weeks showing me what a great dad, cook, drapery hanger, housekeeper, and sexual partner he is he figured he had me hooked and started stringing me along without committing to a date night on two separate days over a three-day period. I figure he wanted to see how long I would let this go on. By the third day I told him I’d decided for him and no we weren’t going to have a date night. Pouting is the only way to describe his response, so I told him I was reaching out to understand how to communicate with him about this and asked him to meet me halfway.
His response to this was that I was demanding and he didn’t think I would understand but he could see that he really needed to cool this down before it got out of hand. I’m really glad this was a text because I laughed for a few minutes before texting him back that I could see he was a player and he could go on his way. Then I blocked his number. I figure if he’s still playing high-school games he’ll get that means I’m done talking. No, he never went to college, and that was his mother’s fault, by the way, just ask him if you’ve got an hour and a bottle of Goldschlager.
alteredchemistry 