YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

I've never been confident in my ability to connect with another human being. I'm shy. I mumble. I don't hear very well, so I end up hearing the most bizarre things. I have trouble keeping conversations going, and I don't always like the silence that creates. And that kinda sucks. Like, that really, really genuinely sucks. 'Cause I want friends and romantic relationships, but because of whatever--silence, disinterest, conflicting sexualities--they just don't happen. A long time ago, when I was in high school, I decided that I was just meant to be alone. That the reason my friends never invited me out and the reason my mom never came home during the weekend was because I wasn't "fit for human consumption", as an old diary entry puts it. I was meant to be alone. Some people just are.

This "I'm meant to be alone" sometimes conflates with my sexuality to create some weird, insecurity-breeding monster: "I'm bisexual, but I'm not because I'm just saying that so I can cast a wider net so I can have twice as many people to prove that I'm not meant to be alone but that actually discounts the straight girls and the gay guys so is that really twice the size, oh hell." This has waned significantly since I've come out to my family (who still refer to any potential romantic partners as "guys", "boyfriends", and "husbands" while I tend to use more gender-neutral terms like "partners" and "significant others", and yes this bothers me but I'm choosing my battles and I think this one isn't that that important).

I've revised that belief a lot over the past 4-5 years. I'm not meant to be alone, I just think I am. And that's a significant difference. And I guess the attempts at changing my way of thinking have succeeded. I have a few friends. Not good friends, not necessarily people I can fully trust and sometimes I want to slap them, but they're fun to hang out with and they make me feel comfortable and even wanted. And I've had a few brief relationships. One ended kinda "meh"--he was nice, but boring and didn't really know how to treat me like his girlfriend. The other was a fucking train wreck. But mostly my romantic life exists between me and my imagination. Or me, my imagination, and my hand.

It's not like I haven't tried. I wasted two years pining for a girl who was never going to like me back, only to humiliate myself twice over trying to get her to put me out of my misery. I tried when I was England with two different girls, but one never met me alone and the other I couldn't figure out whether she was dropping hints or not.

So, I went for Plan D: OKCupid.

Which I don't think is a bad site. I'm not going to wholly dismiss online dating. One of my childhood friends met her current boyfriend on OKCupid and they're happy as cats at a tuna farm. I believe that it's a viable alternative to serendipitous meetings. But for the six months I've been on, messaging and rating and asking questions and everything else, I've only had a handful of people respond to me and no traction towards meeting or actually making connections. And I keep telling myself, it takes time, just be patient. But six months and nothing? Is that normal? Do I need to change anything I'm doing? Is it me or is it them? Is it my profile? I just don't know.

So I'm starting to get genuinely disheartened over this whole thing. I find a girl's profile that I like, who I think looks cool and chill and who I would like to get to know better. I send them a message. And nothing really happens. My hopes are raised, and then dashed, and every time I think "This just isn't worth it." But I have no other means to cultivate romance. I don't have a job at the moment. I'm not at school. I have no LGBT support system and no hobbies that will put me in a social space. When I go out, it's with my family, and I'm not flirting in front of my mother.

So I keep going back. It feels like a bad relationship, and it's digging up all the old feelings. "See, you are meant to be alone. The lack of results from this pithy, shallow dating website proves that your most significant relationship is going to be with the cats you adopt after you leave home." And I know it's ridiculous and I know it's illogical--but my brain has proven time and again that it prefers circuitous logic. (If you know the reference, the Cabin Pressure episode "Limerick" has a scene where one character, Arthur, tries to remember the times for microwave dinners and, yeah, that's how my brain works most of the time.)

"Not fit for human consumption"?

Say what?

Anyone who would say "cat at a tuna farm" on a first date would charm me.

If I may kindly and gently offer a new perspective on some of the things you wrote (and thanks for posting):

You do have an LGBT support system: as a cisgender male kinsey zero (ie straight dude), I honor your growth as you explore your sexuality. I am your straight ally.

You connected with me, via typing, so you can be at least a little confident about connecting with someone.

Agreed! I prefer to use terms like "partners" or "significant others" when talking with others, since I want to move away from heteronormativity.

Hooray for you for being willing to try relationships! And to keep trying after disappointments!

I couldn't help but smile when you wrote about "serendipitous meetings". For me at least, when I meet women (ie introduce myself), it is as an serendipitous as landing a man on the moon. Or as serendipitous as the planning for D-Day.

In my world, women won't usually introduce themselves (but they will give signals they're open to being talked to), and if every relationship has to start with someone opening their mouth, it may as well be me. Serendipity won't give me something to say, so I gotta be prepared.

But I see what you are getting at as far as serendipity!

I can deeply identify with how you say people don't reply to your invitations.

Oh how I've been there. While I don't date online, I do often invite people out. While many/most are very kind, a small percentage will ignore me or laugh at me.

Seeking romance guarantees heartache and rejection.

At least for me, I can't tell if an attractive stranger is worthy (read: kind) of my invitation until I've invited her out. Again, most are super kind ("no" can be a very respectful answer), but a few are not.

btw, I flirted last week in front of my father (we get along real well), and it was super awkward! But a fun kind of super awkward!

As far as circuitous logic and dating: I found out the hard way that my best thinking got me nowhere. I chose to adapt some new behaviors, some of which seemed counter productive at first, that women actually found very intriguing.

So, in summary, you are not alone. Dating and romance have their ups and downs. But this game can be played skillfully.

Good luck out there.

Thank you for responding. I normally don't argue with other members on the boards, but I need to say a few things.

I understand the kindness and the compassion behind labeling yourself an ally, but cisgendered heterosexuals make for a pretty poor LGBT support system. A support system should be knit together from men and women who care and who can help you through your difficulties. And a cisgendered heterosexual can offer all of the love and support in their heart and that is wonderful, more people should express compassion and attempt understanding other humans. But if I approach a cisgendered heterosexual with an LGBT-specific issue, one that I don't know how to navigate and one they probably didn't even know existed, how is that helpful? If I went to my straight friends and said, "I just met this lesbian and I really like her, but she doesn't believe bisexuality is really a thing. I want to get closer to her but the fact that she denies an important element of my identity makes me uncomfortable. What should I do?" they would give me an answer defined by their dominant-group thinking. Even with all the love and support in the world, I want a little group of non-conformists who feel uncomfortable around dominant ideas of relationships, who aren't ready to tell their friends and family but want something to make them feel normal.

Also cisgendered heterosexual males are the ones who manipulate, degrade, humiliate, and objectify me, so I'm programmed to not fully trust every single one that comes up to me and tells me he's a good guy.

Which isn't to say he isn't. It's saying that his gender isn't setting a good precedent.

Now that I've unloaded all of that, I can say I am very grateful that you've responded. And I think that what you do--approaching women in public, with witnesses--is a far braver thing than what I do behind a computer screen. I don't have a lot of "flirt/fail" role models, so it is lovely to know that there are others who try and try as well.

Hi a_schoe,

Thanks for sharing your story.

I don't have any firsthand experience with online dating. I have a fairly strong disdain for it. Reading this article from The New Republic http://www.newrepublic.com/article/1124 ... ine-dating really opened my eyes to the root of my negative feelings for it, however, and it turns out all it is, is that I just hate dating as a whole!

Nothing concrete to offer, except I hear you on the pining. Do. I. Ever. After a lot of self-reflection and pawing through my childhood, I came to the conclusion a couple months ago that I have devoted a lot of energy in my life telling myself stories of being saved and living happily ever after. As messed up as I am from watching too much trashy TV as a kid, I can't imagine how hard it would be if there was almost nothing in the outside world speaking directly or positively to my experience.

I have trouble keeping conversations going, and I don't always like the silence that creates.

Ah. That's a rough one. Being comfortable with silence is a big challenge. I think it's worth it to figure out how to be OK with it. When we spend a lot of time in our heads, I think we get used to the flow and rhythm of things being much, much faster than what can be conveyed verbally comfortably; if I feel the pressure and act like I'm feeling pressured, it just pushes that pressure onto other people, pressure that I know, when I do it, I don't actually mean to convey. I've been taking a mindfulness class lately and it's been reminding me that silence isn't always a sign of a bad thing. Maybe think of it more as being able to make space for everybody involved to experience more deeply what we're actually feeling, especially if the feeling is the joy that comes from connecting with someone (or dread at the lack of connection — equally important information!). It can be hard without that space.

I have a distinct memory of feeling oddly comfortable and comforted in the silent spaces with my partner (an introvert who was working through some shyness) when we first met. He was OK with it, and his being OK made me feel OK about it and put me at ease for him to reveal himself to me at his own speed. I think when we feel pressure to be 'on' we are more likely to be in a position to be putting fronts that don't tell us what we actually need to know about someone. If you want someone to value your reality over your front, maybe it acts as a way to model that, by showing curiosity about their reality rather than their front.

In other words, if they can't stand a lull, maybe you know everything you need to know about them. We can't be wearing our awesome on the outside all the time! And I am hopeful you will find the person with whom you can enjoy the process, and get a nice relationship-outcome out of it too.

As I mentioned, no online dating experience to speak of so no tips and tricks. I would say, instead of pursuing hobbies that put you in a social space, consider hobbies that make you feel good about yourself, that make you feel most like something only you and no one else can do as well as or as uniquely as you do. Perhaps, instead of dwelling on the disappointment of the people you meet not turning into something better, you might consider them as chances to learn about building bridges between yourself and others, and most importantly, an opportunity to observe yourself while you are in that activity — things that distract you or keep you from being present; thoughts that arise that make you nervous about connecting. It might lead you to something to build on.

I'm always hesitant to give advice about dating because I'm seriously shit at it, so let me offer you these many grains of salt with which you might take the above. I am just a big advocate of people feeling good about themselves and using that as the basis of their loving relationships. I wish you all the best and love for yourself,

SC

OK Dissapointment more like. I am fortysomething guy and I found okc an to be a waste of time and money. I'm not holding my breath for hermit date.com
Elmer68