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David McElroy

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My bad teen poetry suggests I’ve always hungered for missing love

By David McElroy · September 28, 2019

I could still show you the spot where Gail introduced herself to me back in the eighth grade at Jasper Junior High School.

It was just a few weeks into the school year. I was near the library in a downstairs hallway. It was between classes, so the hall was crowded with students. But within seconds, it would seem as though there was nobody there other than this beautiful blue-eyed girl and me.

Gail said she had realized that our fathers worked together, so she wanted to introduce herself. I don’t remember what else was said. But it was love at first sight for me — or whatever it is that a 13-year-old boy is mature enough to feel.

For the next three years, I was crazy about her and worshipped her, mostly from afar. By the time we were high school juniors, the fever had ended and she was just another classmate. When we were seniors, we were casual friends. In the second semester of our freshman year of college, we started dating. We were together for three years and even got engaged before eventually going our separate ways.

I didn’t know it then — and rarely realized it later — but my lifelong pursuit of the right woman to love me had its roots in an unconscious childhood need for love which I couldn’t find.

I came to identify love with painful longing.

I’m not the first person to realize that his adult romantic relationships have been influenced by his or her relationship with an opposite-sex parent. You can read dozens of articles and studies in psychological and sociological literature about it. (For a couple of random examples, see this or that.)

It took me many years — and a lot of work toward understanding my complicated feelings related to my mother — to see that I have kept setting myself up to need to earn the love and presence of a woman who I adore.

When I was a child, I had a wonderful and loving mother in the beginning, but she soon abandoned me. I understand now that there were reasons for her actions, but that didn’t change how I felt at the time — and it didn’t change the fact that it wrote a script for me which I’ve followed in relationship after relationship.

I was hurt too badly by my mother’s loss to let myself feel what the abandonment did to me. I told myself and others that I didn’t care. I said very clearly that I didn’t care what happened to her or whether I ever saw her again. I eventually angrily told her — when I was about 15 or 16 — to leave us alone when I realized she was trying to get my sister to come live with her.

I tried as an adult to resolve the relationship with her, but it wasn’t possible. She had become someone I didn’t know. She had become a child-like and irresponsible person by the time I knew her later. Eventually, she died — just a few years ago — and nobody bothered to tell me when it happened.

So this was an emotional script that had no resolution. I can see now that I have been trying to resolve this old childhood script ever since. It’s not that I wanted or needed to marry someone like her. It’s simply that I needed the right woman who would play a role in this hurtful script full of longing — but resolve it in the different way at the end.

I haven’t had many really serious relationships, but in each one, I have longed for the one who would finally allow me to feel loved and accepted and valued — in the ways I had been wanting to feel again since my mother walked out of my life and left me feeling empty and emotionally numb.

I was such a meticulous teen-ager that I kept extensive notes about Gail and my attempts to establish a relationship with her. I was completely inept — and I was terrified the entire time. My notes and plans make me cringe to read today, but they remind me just how early this pattern started.

I have a small box which is filled with papers related to Gail during those years. They’re almost entirely from my eighth and ninth grade years. Sometime during one of those two years, I tried writing poetry to express my feelings and my longing. It’s painful now to read that poetry, partly because it’s terrible poetry and partly because I can feel the huge separation I felt from someone I never thought I could win.

I finally shared one bad poem with Gail years later while we dated, but nobody else has ever seen this. It’s terrible, but it points out something I hadn’t really seen until now. This one is called “So Near, But So Far.”

Shining brightly, high above,
You’re like a distant star,
You’re shining brightly, like a beacon,
But I’ve no way to get that far.

You’re like the lights of the safest port,
Seen from the deck of a sinking ship.
I’m like the captain, I must despair,
The lights are so near, but so far.

I’m like a prisoner behind bars,
You’re like the keys to my cell,
Just barely out of reach,
The keys are so near, but so far.

You’re like the star,
You’re like the lights,
You’re like the keys,
You’re so near, but so far.

You can see why I stuck to writing prose after this brief flirtation with poetry, but you can see so much from the pattern here.

With my mother’s love, I always knew where she was. There were even times I could see her. But I never felt as though I could be secure in her love or my attachment to her, because I knew she was leaving again.

I played that script out with my “puppy love” for Gail. I saw her at school every day. I couple of times, I even managed to go on dates with her. We weren’t old enough to drive, but she went as my date to a church banquet one time and we went to a couple of other events. Afterward, I was always so insecure and shy with her that I never followed up and tried to turn it into something.

For the years when I had a crush on her so badly, she gave me chances, but I mostly viewed her as someone who I could see and long for — but as someone who forever remained out of my reach.

The lines of that horrible poem are full of that symbolism. I longed for her, not as someone who didn’t want me or who could never love me, but as some who was always just beyond what I could grasp — just as I had felt with my mother.

In various other ways, I see how I have invited other women to be involved with the same script. I invite someone to join me in this delicate dance — and she joins because of her own patterns that are completely unrelated to mine — but I have never found the resolution I’ve been looking for from the beginning.

The emotional script calls for me to love and want a woman — for me to long for her and need her — but the thing I’m still waiting for is for someone to play out the last act of the script.

The story with my mother ended unresolved, but I’ve been unconsciously searching for the woman who would help me write and live out the end of this script. I’ve been looking for someone for whom I could yearn and someone I would need — and then who would join me, letting me finally find resolution to the old script.

To use one of the metaphors from the poem, I’ve been waiting for someone who I’ve chosen to love — the very few who I’ve wanted — to come to me eventually and say, “I’m the key to your cell. Come with me. We can escape together.”

We don’t necessarily “marry our parents,” although that does happen at times. More typically, we learn emotional patterns that are either healthy and worth emulating — or we experience unhealthy things which we emulate and then have to struggle to find our way out of.

I felt alone and unloved — in relation to the central woman in my life — when I was a child. I felt unlovable. I felt shame at being abandoned. I felt that I must not be good enough.

And now — all these years later — I realize I’ve done the same thing with other women at least three different times.

I’m not looking for a woman to be like my mother. I’m not looking for someone to become my mother. I’m simply looking — quite unconsciously — for someone to help me to find a healthy ending to the unhealthy emotional script which was all I knew as a child.

It’s very difficult for me to find a woman who I love, but I always know instinctively when I’ve found her. I now understand that this is why I don’t give up easily when a more reasonable man would fall out of love and give up.

I realize now that I have to go through this painful longing for awhile. But in the same way that something in my heart didn’t want to give up — when I was a child — with the possibility of being loved and accepted, I do the same thing today.

I wait and I hope and I long. It’s incredibly destructive to me on the inside. It wastes a huge amount of time. It hurts and makes me feel lonely and unloved and unworthy. But it’s all because I’m still waiting for that one woman who will help me write a new ending to a very old script.

I’m waiting and hoping and longing for the one amazing woman who will love me and accept me — and who will never abandon me.

After that, I can throw the script away for good.

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: childhood, hurt, longing, mother, need, psychology

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On a live awards show Sunday night, one man made a joke about a female celebrity. The husband of the celebrity was offended and hit the man who made the joke. Or maybe it was staged for entertainment. Who knows? Who cares? Social media is full of discussion — and even arguments — about this idiocy today. This baffles me. Let’s assume for a moment that the event happened as reported. People have been having such idiotic fights ever since there have been humans. Half the bars in the world see such brief dustups regularly. It simply doesn’t matter. The fact that so many people believe they need to talk about this — or even need to have opinions about it — is more evidence of the bizarre media brainwashing that convinces many to care passionately about brain-dead trivia. Your life will be happier and saner if you focus on yourself, your family and your friends, not on whatever scripted (or spontaneous) bilge that the media wants to pipe into your home.

I’m in the middle of migrating this website to new servers this week. This means you might encounter some unexpected behavior until I get all the bugs worked out. Clicking on my links (including this one) might cause your browser to give you the message that it’s a site without a current security certificate. It’s not actually unsafe, but there’s something which isn’t yet set up for the security certificate. I apologize for any such errors you might encounter while the process is going on. If you notice any problems with content which didn’t migrate properly, I would appreciate you letting me know the details at davidmcelroy@mac.com. Thanks for your patience.

I often wonder what animals think when they look at us and consider the society we’ve created. Yes, I know this is fanciful and unrealistic, but what if they could? Would they be astounded at how we treat each other? Would they be disgusted by the ugliness and pettiness which fill so many of our daily interactions? The truth is that I’m feeling pretty disgusted with humanity tonight. I made the mistake of reading some online interactions that I should have avoided — and it sickened me. The people involved appeared to be vile and stupid and arrogant. I wish I could pretend they’re a tiny minority, but I know better. It’s times such as this when I most need to escape much of “civilization” and disconnect from their world. If humans are going to be worthy of “ruling this planet,” we have a lot of growth to do. And I fear that growth is nowhere in sight. So my buddy Thomas, above, and all of his friends would be right to judge us harshly — and to think, “Why do you folks get to be in charge?”

I should have expected this, but I honestly didn’t. The article I wrote last week about disagreements over treatment for autistic children brought me angry emails. You could almost call it “hate mail.” Of the five emails about it so far, two have been to tell me that I’m wrong to even listen to critics of the most popular therapy for autistic children — and the other three tell me I’m wrong for not condemning the treatment as the “obvious” abuse it is. If you read the article, you know I didn’t take a position on the issue, because I simply don’t know enough to have an opinion. But by talking about the issue, I stepped into a heated controversy. The emails from the two sides convinced me of nothing. But they did give me even more empathy for the unfortunate parents who have to figure out for themselves where the truth lies for their children.

Have you ever had what you thought was a new idea — and then discovered that “old you” had the same idea years ago? I had that experience tonight. And it’s been wonderful. I came up with an idea tonight for a very short satirical film that would be a promotion for a fictitious college. The point is to make the college promote — as good things — everything which is actually terrible about most modern colleges. Then I remembered a fake college that I invented back when I was in college. I had created student recruitment brochures and various newsletters back then, so I decided to call my “new” college by the same name I’d invented years ago: Ochita College. As I searched my computer for any old material I might still have about Ochita from the past, I discovered an email I sent to someone in 2009 — outlining essentially the same idea which I came up with tonight. Since I didn’t remember writing that, it felt like magic. So my next film project just might be this one instead. If all goes well, you might soon see “Ochita College: Your Future Starts Here.” This should be fun.

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