I had an affair with Colonel Gaddafi in the late 80s

Oh. God. Like what the women who endanger themselves by going to domestic violence shelters most need is to be expected to provide self-esteem to needy volunteers.

But since I didn't gaslight you or wasn't nice to you then you aren't going to fall in love with me? awww.
Sorry for raping you. both of you. all of you.

Stop raping us. I mean it.

Last Edited by Yardman on 10/09/2018 05:40 PM

I have an appointment two weeks from now, I only started seeing a therapist recently, about three months ago. The last time I did I was 18, it didn’t work out for me then.

Huh? I never said that they happened in ‘88, we were together in ‘88, they happened in ‘86 like you said. He had developed an anxiety issue out of the episode and self medicated with cocaine...I think he probably had a touch of PTSD, a lot of things could ‘trigger’ him.

I can agree with this. I really have no idea how to interact with people my age, they seem foreign to me. I get along well with my coworkers, they’re all about my age, a few older, a few younger, but at parties I’m in the corner staring at everybody like a loser. With Papa I didn’t feel like there was any pretenses to our relationship, I felt like I could just be myself if that makes sense.

The one I’ve started to see doesn’t impress me. He asks me a lot of uncomfortable questions, wants to know all about my past. It’s awkward.

Talk therapy doesn't work for PTSD.

I KNOW I'm triggering myself over a pretend thread but you really do NOT want any affiliation with any citizen of any rogue state in your medical records.

Because God people are so stupid!



Last Edited by Yardman on 10/07/2018 06:40 PM

Well, I can give you this:

1.) Like AA?
2.) Maslow’s Hierarchy falls apart for me on a pretty low level, and as you know where one level crumbles the others above do as well.
3.) I journal often, draw a lot it’s easier to get things out that way.
4.) When I was a young girl I talked, it was after my first suicide attempt, I was involuntary committed for a week. I was purposely vague, but talked a lot. It didn’t help much. With the therapist I’m seeing now he’s asking me lots of questions, I’m being as honest as possible. It’s incredibly awkward.
5.) Reading I can get behind...but not sure if I could open up in group.
6.) I drink a goodly amount tea, but mostly coffee.
7.) My experiences are a bit unique though, not sure how many other girls have been with Papa, though I’m sure a few.
8.) Healing?
9.) Giving him up...?

I volunteer at the local vet’s office. They’re always looking for somebody to nurse newborn kittens who are abandoned. People leave injured animals at my house sometimes (usually in the mail drop), this gives me some purpose outside of school. Gives me an outlet to be motherly.

If there’s anything I don’t want to be it’s a burden to someone, I’d rather die.

Therapy doesn’t work. It didn’t then and I’m sure it won’t now. Just going because I told myself I’d give it six months.

Pretend thread.

Just like what he said when I stepped into his office, took my mother to video chat to convince him I wasn’t insane. I give up. Talking about these things has helped, but with predictable results. If anything just convinced me on my planned outcome.

NO, you really don't get it, nor why I made the recommendation.

OP, I agree that mothering needy animals can provide you with the same connection.

Many people have some degree of social anxiety, or are shy, or just uncomfortable with light social chit-chat of group situations. Best to be a good listener and ask polite questions of another. Let's you "off the hook," so to speak.

Wish I knew you in real life. I can relate to many of the things you say, and I think you've led a fascinating life. Plus I can tell you're an extremely giving person.

Last Edited by NotStarvingActress on 10/07/2018 07:20 PM

That’s...acidic.

At this point I don’t even know why I’m still here. He didn’t rape me and treat me kindly to mess with my mind. He’s the only person I’ve ever known who I could talk to, who cared. I wanted to have sex with him, to be with him, intimate in that way. Why is that hard to understand? Now I have nothing. At least talking here and other places has given me a good idea as to what my future should entail in the next few years.

Social situations are the worst, faculty parties, pto meetings, Christmas parties, all the same.

‘Hey Anna, haven’t found a man yet?’
‘You’re going to become a cat lady if you keep this up Anna!’
‘How come you never wanted kids, motherhood not for you?’
‘Hey Anna, are you really a lesbian and just never told anyone?’
‘Biological clock is ticking Anna, you should find a man.’

I wish I could tell the truth, but I can’t.

Thank you, that’s very kind. I give a lot, and ask for nothing back, I probably give too much. This life offers very little in the way of comfort and rest. I suppose that’s why at this point dying seems very appealing. I’m Catholic, I like to believe in heaven, eternal Union with God and those we love, If Papa’s faith is correct than I’ll be with him the same. He told me we’d be together in paradise, he’d chosen me to be his there. And if we’re reincarnated maybe we can be together there in a happy new life with our child, in a world that makes better sense. Worse case scenario there’s nothing, even then it’s preferable. I won’t be aware, the world will continue without me, and at least Papa and I can be together in total oblivion. I just hate it for my mother, she feels like a failure enough as it is.

Talking about these things has been highly therapeutic, but it’s also made things easier to accept, things are clearer.

He's so handsome.

I had a Libyan teacher with hair like that. He got my jokes, too.

He was very handsome, beautiful even, to me.

He didn’t get my jokes, language barrier I suppose, but I’m a bad joke teller. He had an anxiety attack the second evening we were together, I was trying to help him relax, I was sitting up in bed, he was laying down with his head in my lap. I was running my fingers through his hair and trying to tell a joke to make him feel better. I don’t remember what it was, something stupid probably, he didn’t get it, I laughed at that and he laughed at me laughing. I opened up to him, told him about my dad, he was ashamed of looking ‘weak’ in front of me and I figured I’d tell him that we all have things we have to deal with. I wasn’t expecting the reaction I got.

I should tell you re how so-called friends tried to push me to date/marry men that were completely wrong for me so I wouldn't "be an old maid." The biggest fear growing up was that's what I would become.

My 4 older sisters and I would play a card game (playing cards were cheap entertainment) called, "Old Maid." Their nasty jokes when I lost so upset me that I refused to play that particular card game ever again.

Well I still haven't met a man I wanted to marry, and yes I regret never really being in love. However I've also met women of all ages who've gotten married for all of the wrong reasons. So better never to have been married than to have gone through the pain of divorce.

So I tell well-meaning "friends" that I really like the freedom of living alone, and the quiet.

I’m sorry you had to go through those things, I know how it feels, and it sucks.

And at this point I’m glad I didn’t force myself into a relationship. I would have never been happy. I loved who I loved and I’d just make myself (and the other person) miserable by pretending.

Overreaching. You don't know PTSD or PTSD sex. Maybe you don't know adult men.-

What? What are you even talking about?

Edit ~ What am I over reaching with? He had an anxiety attack a few moments before, we were sitting around talking. I heard a low flying airplane and mentioned it, not thinking. He suddenly got nervous and then practically jumped on top of me, I was confused, I asked him what was wrong and he kept shushing me. I could feel his heart pounding and he broke out in a cold sweat. We stayed like that for perhaps a couple of minutes before I eased out from under him so that his head was in my lap. I didn’t know how to help so I tried telling jokes. This episode didn’t lead to sex, we tried cocaine after talking about my father, we were both emotionally stressed and he said it’d make it better.

I don’t know if he had PTSD or an anxiety disorder or what. I imagine having your house blown up will do that to a person, he had plenty of strange mannerisms because of this. I told him about my father because I felt bad that he was embarrassed, I figured he’d opened up to me so I should with him. I didn’t have PTSD at the time. And no, outside of Papa, my father, and a few coworkers I don’t really know any men.

I really don’t need this right now. This is an incredibly bad time of year for me, soon it will be the anniversary of Papa’s death and then my son’s. I came here and to the Internet in general to hopefully gain a sense of peace from the constant emptiness and suicidal ideation, and it’s helped a little, but hurt in many ways as well. I suppose I’m just tired at this point, tired of trying.

Last Edited by anna gaddafi on 10/08/2018 10:37 PM

So tell us about his hair. Did it feel as soft as it looks in the avatar?

When it shed did it leave little circles about the size of pen springs?

It did. Pen springs? No, too small, the curls had the circumference of perhaps a quarter, if not a bit smaller.

His hair’s texture was soft and silky, you could run your fingers through it and it wouldn’t tangle. It was all really like curls on top of curls, so he that ‘afro’ look at times. It’s funny actually, because it was quite long, you just couldn’t tell because it was all gathered up around his head. When he was in the shower it was all in his face and nearly touched his shoulders, as soon as it started to dry it’d bounce back into position.

It looks so soft and touchable in the avatar picture, like very soft baby lamb wool.

Sorry for such a late response, it got kinda rough here in Ga for a little while. Thought I might be meeting up with Papa a bit sooner than expected for a minute there.

It was, I’ve never felt lamb’s wool before to be honest, but I’d imagine it’d feel much the same. We had a bit of a mutual admiration society with the hair, he liked mine (blonde, curly) and I liked his. I remember him braiding my hair before we went to the opera, I’m not sure where he learned to do that, but it was relaxing nonetheless.

At night when I couldn’t sleep I’d run my fingers through his hair and kiss the top of his head. I stopped at some point because I woke him up once and felt bad about it. It was very touchable, my hands usually ended up in it during ‘intimate’ moments, I kick myself for not cutting off a lock to keep (as stalker-ish is that sounds).