I'm 50. I've never had a girlfriend (well, there was this one in high school but we never even kissed other than a few childish pecks, it was more a together-in-name-only sort of thing), I've never kissed a girl in passion, certainly never gone to second or third base.
I am what is these days known as asexual - the thought of actually fucking someone repels me, and that's been the case since puberty. As I was a teenager in the early 80s, you can imagine the reaction my dislike of sex got me from my peers, who were, like all teenage boys, consumed by the desire for sex and spent their waking lives plotting how to get it.
In those days of course there was no LGBTQABC alphabet soup, there was "straight", and there was "faggot", and there was nothing in between. Since I wasn't "straight", in my peers' eyes that made me "faggot" - even though gay sex repels me just as much as hetero sex - and I was bullied accordingly.
That doesn't mean I didn't have sex hormones. There was a part of me that still wanted to be loved, kissed and cuddled, I wanted the romance, I just didn't want the actual sex. But the girls of my era couldn't comprehend this. To them I must have seemed like a little boy playing at puppy love; to me the concepts of "girlfriend" and "something you fuck" were immiscible. It was the feminist idea of the "Madonna/whore syndrome" taken to the ultimate degree.
I tell you all this because I remember very well what my sex hormones put me through during my late teens and early 20s. Always there was that endless pressure to seek a girlfriend, from within and without; and I spent very many lonely evenings sitting in my room at my computer, endlessly seeking to drown my loneliness in the exploration of what I could make a computer do. While I had some awesome times in my 20s, and gained many fun memories I know look back on with joy and happiness, there was always that undercurrent of pain that I might never know what it is to hold a girl in my arms, to walk hand-in-hand down a beach at sunset, to bask in each other's love in front of a blazing fire.
This desire persisted through my 20s, and began, very slowly, to wane during my 30s. By the time I hit 40, I was so entrenched in my MGTOW lifestyle that the thought of acutally having to share my life with someone else, to have to answer to them, to go out when told, to come home when told, to eat and sleep and work when told, became unbearable. In the face of my passion for freedom and self-determination, the desire for love dwindled away and vanished forever.
In the late 80s and all through the 90s and early 2000s, I watched my friends go through marriage-divorce grist mill. I personally know 12 guys who got married. 11 are now divorced, and the one marriage that worked are a farming couple who both grew up in the country and were not poisoned by the liberal shit dinned into kids in the cities. I am thus personally familiar with 11 divorce cases.
In ALL 11 cases, the woman claimed the man was violent and abusive in order to cement her getting custody of the children. In only ONE case do I know this to be true, and when we found out my friends and I wanted nothing more to do with him. In two more cases, I know that it was the woman who was violent; in six more cases, it was definitely the woman who was psychologically, emotionally and verbally abusive to her husband. One of my friends ended up committing suicide after losing access to his kids as a result of these false accusations.
So out of 12 marriages, I saw 11 divorces, 11 accusations of abuse, 6 cases of the woman being verbally abusive, 2 cases of the woman being physically violent, 1 case of the man being physically violent, and 1 suicide.
Trust an old bastard who's seen it all, mate. It's NOT worth it.
I have come to realise that love and power are mutually exclusive. To love someone is to give them power over you, and so you are no longer in control of your own life. So you need to focus on the importance of your own freedom and self-actualization first and foremost. If you answer the call of your sex hormones, you will lose that. Conjure in your mind the concept that the two primal instincts of survival and reproduction are mutually exclusive. Then choose survival over reproduction.
If my own life is anything to go by, I must be honest and tell you that at 18 you are in for a rough time. Your sex hormones will intensify over the next few years, as will peer pressure on you to find a woman and get laid and get hooked up. This two-pronged assault on your freedom will cause you much pain, and you will feel the loneliness as a tangible presence in your room.
To fight this and overcome it, you must find your inner soul and give it expression. Take up an art, and give yourself over to it. For me that was graphics and photography - I love drawing pictures, taking pictures, and building worlds. I put my heart and soul into this, and today I flatter myself I am an accomplished artist able to create in virtual reality anything my heart desires. What art appeals to you of course is something only you can discover.
Your 20s will be a time of experimentation and discovery, and you will try many different things to find the one that will become your true calling. Perhaps it will be drawing or modelling. Perhaps it will be music, or dance. Perhaps it will be gardening, or metalwork. But whatever you choose, know that you have plenty of time to explore all these channels of self-expression because you have your whole life ahead of you. Treasure your youth while you have it, because all too soon it will be gone. Don't let it become a memory of pain, but of self-discovery and finding your true soul.
Once you get past 30, you will find the intensity of the hormonal desire wil begin to wane. Your 30s will be a time of spiritual awakening, of coming to understand who you really are and the awareness of the power of your purpose that guides your life. You will still feel the twinges of loneliness, but it will become more poignant, less painful, over time. It is this that will truly give life and soul to your art, and enable you to breathe life into what you create.
It is said that life begins at 40. You can never know the truth of this until you experience it. By the time I turned 40, I had come to understand that even the appeal of loving and caring would be but impediments to the fulfilment of my arts. Not for nothing are great wizards, like Merlin, sexless virgins whose power rests upon their avoidance of sex. The symbology behind this is that love in itself impedes your pursuit of knowledge and creation, of your mastery of yourself and your art.
Your 40s will be a time of fulfilment, of the actualisation and making reality that which before was only fantasy. You will have mastered your art, and people will admire and respect your abilities. But you will realise that their admiration is only secondary to the joy of seeing what you can accomplish, the paternal pleasure you will take in beholding what you create.
Now I am 50, and the journey of self-discovery is behind me, now begins the time of understanding the world around me and the processes that make it work. With this comes the ability to watch what people do, and to know instantly why they are doing it and what their motives are. I do not know how this ability will unfold in future, for that part of my life still lies before me; but I know that I will embrace it with more fervour and passion than ever I could muster in my youth. Many of the great men of history did not achieve their true greatness until old age. Not for nothing are wizards and wise men depicted as greybeards!
I hope this epistle helps you to face what lies before you. It will be a hard battle, and you will stumble and fall, but if you are strong you will come through the fire annealed and tempered like a fine sword. I will leave you with a little poem that my Dad taught me, that has inspired me all my life and helped through the hardest times:
Say not the struggle naught availeth;
The labour and the wounds are vain;
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been, they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking
Seem here no painful inch to gain;
Far back through creeks and inlets making
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front, the Sun climbs slow, how slowly;
But westward, look! the land is bright!
-Arthur Hugh Clough
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