The Possible Stalker Returns to Slavery for Younger Woman

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Elkapan

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Where to begin?

I'm a tragic figure. Foolish and hopelessly lost. I'm 32 now. I would say my life was last on track, aged 20.
At this age, I was studying software development at university, achieving good grades— I had a promising life ahead of me. However, due to social anxiety, I struggled to make friends, I didn't fit in well. I met a girl the same age online, beautiful, creative, e&c. Over time we fell in love. Trouble was, she lived near London—300 miles away. I traveled a few times to meet her. The connection was amazing, she was the love of my life. Foolishly, I abandoned my studies, and used what remained of my student loan to rent a room in a shared house from an unscrupulous private landlord near London. To my horror, and complete lack of surprise, the majority of the residents seemed to be made up of good looking Australian rugby-player type young men. 

Being an introvert, I watched in nervous silence, as they grew each day more and more intimate with my very beautiful new girlfriend. In the shared kitchen each morning, they would almost line up to kiss her head as she cooked. In a new place, feeling isolated, without any social support, I became overloaded with anxiety and jealously. Even her best friend was her ex-boyfriend, she would say: "Of course I love you more than Ryan, but don't tell him I said that!" She would also stay over his place at times. After 6-7 months, it was getting too much. All she wanted to do was drink with the young men in the house, she seemed overly preoccupied with what they thought of her. One time, she said she was going out to get drinks for another session. I left a regrettable note on our bed calling her a "slut", before storming out for a long walk. When I returned, I found they had locked me out, the men hurled ice cubes from their cooler at me from the window, swore and threatened me—she had shown them the note. It was only after I threatened to call the landlord, they unlocked the door. I found her dead drunk stinking of vodka. After some slurred histrionics on her part, she tumbled down the stairs. Whereupon the men, helpfully aided her to the top, by each grabbing a tit and an ass apiece. I had to convince her the water I was giving her was vodka before I get her to our room. Fortunately, not long after this incident the young men moved back to Australia.

Things seemed to run smooth again for the next 2-3 months, and for a brief time I was happy, deeply in love; and I she thought was too. Then, suddenly, she stops sleeping with me, she became standoffish and would react angrily to my pleas. Then, one night, she didn't come home. It wasn't until the next day, I saw her in our room, after work. I asked where she was the night before, I was worried sick and was calling her phone, and her friends numbers--no one knew, or would say. She said, she stayed at the "Palace Hotel" nearby to clear her head. The next day after work, I call into the Palace Hotel to check the logbook. It was a Palace "Hotel" in name only, it was a bar. When I told her this, she just grinned—I in saw in that grin, for the first time something sick in her nature. She would bat away all my questions as if they were the buzzing of an annoying gnat. The next night, again she is not home, but this time, I don't have my set of key to into the house. I call and call. It goes through to voicemail. I'm worried about her. I threaten to call the police, I'm sick with worry, and I'm locked out on a cold, frosty Novemember night. The hours go by, I'm calling and calling. Standing by the house, a car pulls up, a brand new BMW 250i, and there she is with this guy I've never seen before. And they just ******* stare at me, as I scream "who is this?" But I knew well enough. She drops the keys out the window and they drive off. I don't see her til the next night. At this point, I'm not angry so much, but completely crushed. I just want to move back to Manchester--but no money. I'd have to work another few weeks. I loved her so much. I have never felt such a world of pain. She seperates the beds, and I cry myself to sleep every night. I say, "so long as I'm here, promise me you'll never bring him into this house." She promised. But sure enough, a few days later, she and her friends and the fella are all laughing away in the kitchen. Whilst I remained locked in the bedroom. This humilitating routine continues on for 3-4 weeks. But the pyschological trauma didn't end there. 

She knew, I would wait up at night, hoping she would return home rather than spend the night at his. I would sit by the window. One night, around midnight, they pulled up in his car and parked outside the window. She proceeded to straddle him, and messed him right there in plain sight. This incident, destroyed what was left of my mind. I had taken to shaking fits, and cutting myself; I thought about suicide constantly- I still couldn't afford to move back, because I was paying off our backlog of rent. I would write dark, sucidial pages of writings and stash them beneath our bed. She spread rumours, that I "had lost my mind -- "mistreated" her, was pyschologically unstable. Justifying her affair. And because she was a beautiful young girl, her friends all rallied to her side. I was treated like honeysuckle and a unwanted leper by everyone. I returned to Manchester. Broken. Mentally deranged. Hateful of women. And all humanity.

Once I got my own place, I became a recluse, and in time an alcoholic. To this day I have not slept with another woman—10 years. I never once sought out their company. In my early to mid 20s, I read a great deal of socialist literature. I became a Marxist, and joined a Trotskyist party. My worldview of contending classes, shaped my relationship to the economy; and my political outlook. Capitalism, was just another inhuman and monstrous lie. I lived by the philosophy of, "Travaillez Jamais"--- never work! And despite a several, 6-7 temp. admin jobs over this time, I never did. Preferring, instead, to shun society. To live on welfare, and spend more and more time in isolation. Many years passed like this. For 2-3 weeks I speak to no one! Years of this. I studied a four year PhD in English Lit. Before, leaving it incomplete, and now longer finishable; due to depression. A familiar, half-baked effort. My life since then, has been marked by cynicism, alcoholism, misanthopy and a rejection of all I see as false and duplicitous. Then, one day—this leads us to the final part of my story— a perverse desire struck me. A desire to suffer. To be exploited by capitalism, to be admist its most exploited—to feel my body abused, my spirit crushed by laborous, and meaningless suffering.  

Luckily for me there was just such a job. As a picker for a well known company, in the middle of a nowhere industrial estate, known for brutally exploiting unskilled, foreign nationals. I applied and got the job. Sure enough, it was everything I desired. I watched as workers collapsed through exhausation, to be taken away by an ambulance. The work was so taxing, in our 20-30km day treks, that welts and blisters the size of garden peas would burst inside my steel toe cap boots, causing a glorious shower of pain. The more I suffered the more I desired to suffer. An endless loop of suffering-desire. And desiring-suffering. It seemed, I had finally found my place—at the very bottom of society. I never expected to fall in love. 

Anna. The moment I saw her mid-20s, pale, uniquely beautiful; and later knew her empathy and intelligence. She reminded me of the haunting, oddly beautiful, old movie actresses: Mary Astor, Georgia Hale, Bacall... We exchanged a few work-related words. She was Romanian. Immediately, I rush home and start learning Romanian. I practice everyday, with a Romanian fellow on the way to work. Finally, when I can speak 2-3 sentences, I present her with my achievement: "Ințeleg puțin român. Dar voi învata mai mult în timp." I joke, and tell her I used to pronounce timp, as pimp; and how awkward that could of been. She replies with a sharp "Yes!" cutting me off, and hurries away. You fool. You should have known better. You've embarassed yourself-- she's knows you're not interested in the language, but in her! I chide myself. 
Everyday, I work to exhaustion. I lost 10kg in a such a short time. Then, one day, sharing a bus on route to work. She descends from the upper floor, and our eyes meet. And though, I am preparing to tear my gaze away. Our eyes are locked for 3-4 seconds—and I can only describe it as a shared soul-seeing. A rare, suprahuman occurance. From then on, her attitude towards me changed completely. We would take any chance to talk about a whole range of topics, always with a joyful and intense participation. And how smart, and opinionated she was! I was soaring! My feet no longer blistered painfully, but carried away, by colorful dreams of a life with Anna. Anna, became a reason to live and breathe! To look on her, was to see all the beauty in the world manifest. She would touch my scanner and adjust its straps. She complimented, I was "the most one of the intelligent person here." Oh, Anna! I woiuld crawl on my stomach, like a louse to hear those words again. Then, it happened... She had a Romanian boyfriend-- not only that, he worked in the very same warehouse. I suddenly start seeing them together everywhere. At this point, I'm madly in love with her. And I'm desperately confused. Look, you recluse, you dreamer. Say, you do win her over, what kind of a life can a no-friends, no-direction recluse like you offer her? If you love her, you will want her to be happy-- she'll be happier with him. 
Then, the moral confliction, its argument: "You know what it's like to lose the one you love. You can't cause, by your own actions, another man that pain. Besides, how do you know she even like you that way?" It would be painful to describe in too much detail, my remaining month there. In the canteen, on the bus, in queue to leave the warehouse, passing in the aisles or shopfloor. Everywhere, in the corner of my eye, I could see her pale, lovely face staring at me, trying desperately, to catch my attention. And on every occassion, I avoided eye contact -it was obvious to everyone- and where I could avoided her company. Inside, it felt like I was sludging around raw tuna for organs. On my last day there before I decided to quit. It seemed she had enough, walked down the aisle and head on into me, she stopped and gazed at me again, somewhat impetuously. I looked at her, sighed, and turned away. Only to see her back as she walked away. That was the last I saw of her- 9 months ago.

Since then, I thought about her all the time. A month later, I even walked to the bus station to meet her after work hours, but she wasn't there. Then, last week, I heard they were recruiting again. Having fallen into my old ways of reclusion and idle stupor. I applied and got my old job back. She is going to be, perhaps, frightened to see me? Even now, I question, whether she was really staring, because my behavior was odd-- or whether the whole thing was ridiculous, a premature bewitchment; and her many curious, and puzzled looks. There is even the chance, she will know I returned for her. And it may be entering into the creepy/stalker territory. I only know I love her. And I will have enslaved myself, again, for nothing, if she is not there tomorrow.
 
Jesus Christ.

Have you talked to a therapist about any of this?

I though the ending was going to be that you imagined the romanian woman as a way to love yourself and bring you around like in Steppenwolf.
 
kamya said:
Jesus Christ.

Have you talked to a therapist about any of this?

I though the ending was going to be that you imagined the romanian woman as a way to love yourself and bring you around like in Steppenwolf.

No.

I told the Jobcentre I don't feel mentally sound. I think, perhaps, they believed I'm playing games. Before I could get an appointment with my doctor, they flagged up my old employer, and sent me for an interview. I got the job again. It wasn't much of an "interview", you just have to breathe and have a pulse. Part of me was driven, like I said, to see Anna again. So you're saying, all of this is not natural, and might not occur as and the thoughts and actions of a mentally sound person? I don't see the point where it screams I need therapy? Surely, they are the thoughts of someone depressed, and suffering a form of social anxiety--- common enough.   

Could you tell me why you believe I need therapy?
 
You describe yourself as a depressed alcoholic recluse that self sabotages himself at every turn, hasn't had his life on track since he was 20, has never sat down with a professional and processed all the honeysuckle he has been through and has the potential to turn into a stalker.

Yeah but no, you don't need therapy at all.
 
Elkapan,

I also suggest you seek therapy, call a mental health hotline, request someone to talk to. Matters of the heart are hard, very hard and it seems that you are still dealing with issues that stem back from over 10 years ago. You are hurting, not treating yourself well, and will not be able to move forward without working to let the past go.
 
SophiaGrace said:
You describe yourself as a depressed alcoholic recluse that self sabotages himself at every turn, hasn't had his life on track since he was 20, has never sat down with a professional and processed all the honeysuckle he has been through and has the potential to turn into a stalker.

Yeah but no, you don't need therapy at all.

It was a genuine question on his part. Not sure why you decided to get snippy towards the end of your post. Pretty sure he doesn't need *that*.
 
reynard_muldrake said:
SophiaGrace said:
You describe yourself as a depressed alcoholic recluse that self sabotages himself at every turn, hasn't had his life on track since he was 20, has never sat down with a professional and processed all the honeysuckle he has been through and has the potential to turn into a stalker.

Yeah but no, you don't need therapy at all.

It was a genuine question on his part. Not sure why you decided to get snippy towards the end of your post. Pretty sure he doesn't need *that*.

She is justified. I expect a lot of women, would be repulsed by how low a man can fall. And how much value and desire, he can attribute to what might seem to them, an innocuous and friendly social interaction. There is always the threat and possibility, that any man, could be like me. But I think, it's very rare.   

I called the employer, and asked them to switch my shift from nights to mornings. I'm obligated to start the job. But I won't even see her now. I have a doctors appointment on the 26th. I'll discuss my issues with him, and the options concerning therapy. At the moment, I'm probably unfit for work.

Thanks for your suggestions.
 
reynard_muldrake said:
SophiaGrace said:
You describe yourself as a depressed alcoholic recluse that self sabotages himself at every turn, hasn't had his life on track since he was 20, has never sat down with a professional and processed all the honeysuckle he has been through and has the potential to turn into a stalker.

Yeah but no, you don't need therapy at all.

It was a genuine question on his part. Not sure why you decided to get snippy towards the end of your post. Pretty sure he doesn't need *that*.

Idk how it can be a genuine question on his part when he has reiterated his dysfuntionality countless times in his post. If he does not see that and does not see the need for therapy it speaks to a great lack of self awareness.
 
I never had therapy before. Nor, do I know anyone who has. So I really don't know what behaviors and thought-processes are worthy of receiving therapy in our increasingly cash-strapped, and pathetically meager mental-health service provision by the NHS.  It was a genuine question. And I thank you for your response.
 
There is more than one side to every story and I can't help but think that maybe you aren't telling things as they really happened, but how you decided to say they happened to make yourself look like the good guy.
From your story, you were the first one to abuse your girlfriend. I'm sorry, but yeah. You tried to control her and that's likely what pushed her away. My guess is that she broke up with you, but you blocked that from your mind.

The second girl, well, you aren't in love with her, you're obsessed with her.

I agree with everyone else, you should really seek out some therapy.
 
Elkapan said:
I never had therapy before. Nor, do I know anyone who has. So I really don't know what behaviors and thought-processes are worthy of receiving therapy in our increasingly cash-strapped, and pathetically meager mental-health service provision by the NHS.  It was a genuine question. And I thank you for your response.

Typically you get therapy when your everyday functioning is impared by a mental illness, it negatively impacts those around you or you have a great stressor in your life that you should sort through with a professional. If you don't, it can impact the rest of your life (or a long period) and manifest itself in a mental illness. You ping at least one of these if not more.

This is my personal barometer for when therapy is needed. 

Hope this helps.
 
TheRealCallie said:
The second girl, well, you aren't in love with her, you're obsessed with her.  

I agree with everyone else, you should really seek out some therapy.

+1 IMO OP probably needs to work on developing himself as a person so he does not cling to others to form his identity. That and develop healthy boundaries. For his own sake. Otherwise it will continue to cause him suffering and lack of functionality. It sounds like he is focusing on other people to avoid dealing with his issues. That and his own internal interpretation of his ex gf does not sound healthy. It is an interpretation that only brings him down.

But as you said he may have abused her which goes back to the whole identity/boundary issue IMO. This is something he could take a look at in therapy.
 
SophiaGrace said:
TheRealCallie said:
The second girl, well, you aren't in love with her, you're obsessed with her.  

I agree with everyone else, you should really seek out some therapy.

+1 IMO OP probably needs to work on developing himself as a person so he does not cling to others to form his identity. That and develop healthy boundaries. For his own sake. Otherwise it will continue to cause him suffering and lack of functionality. It sounds like he is focusing on other people to avoid dealing with his issues. That and his own internal interpretation of his ex gf does not sound healthy. It is an interpretation that only brings him down.

But as you said he may have abused her which goes back to the whole identity/boundary issue IMO. This is something he could take a look at in therapy.

Every major event in the descent of our relationship of that period, I relayed honestly. No, she did not break up with me prior to her affair. And no, I most certainly did not "abuse" her. The only regrettable action on my part was leaving that note. But as a young man driven to height of jealously and impotency, it is a forgivable slip. This is just another example, of women banding together to defend their sex. And how, you can both possibly turn me into the "abuser", shows just how far, this rot has decayed the social cohesion and trust between the sexes. The man, no matter what, must always be guilty and bare the blame. Is it any wonder society has produced the neurosis and isolation, I suffer, and other men I'm sure. Thank you for reestablishing  my deep rooted distrust for womankind. Just when, I was trying to learn to love the right way again. You call this constructive advice? You're poison!

Closing my account immediately.
 
See this is an example of you avoiding your own issues by focusing on women. I kinda knew you didn't want help.

If you want to hide from your issues, fine. You only hurt yourself and things won't get better.
 
This is about helping you and if you are not ready then ok. Take care and I do hope you follow through with therapy.
 
Um,did you just try to justify why you did something extremely mean and hurtful to a woman you said you loved?  Yeah, no.  And I would have said what I said if it was a female that did those things too.  I don't really give a **** what you have for genitals.  It's your ACTIONS, not your gender that define you. Trying to control someone is abuse whether you think it is or not.
 
It's not that controlling to want your supposed gf to not bring around the other guys she's *******.

If OP's story is true I think that while he messed up, I can at least understand what he was feeling. Her actions were far more cruel and messed up. It's sad to me that he just let it happen instead of having more self respect in the way he handled the situation.
 
What a hard story to read.  I think all of us non-socialites have had some sort of similar (probably not as bad as yours) story in their past.  I saw this post, and wanted to wait to respond before I had time to really read it.  

I need to read it again, (I have read through it twice.) I will print it up and look at it some more, and then later and I'd like to respond again, share a story or two from my own past. This is too real, and maybe you'll feel better knowing others have experienced similar things.    Men pursuing women is an age old tale where there are alot of similarities, even though each story is different.  Your story sounds like a made for TV "90 Day Fiance" episode.  Man, do I hate (but love) watching and cringing at these stories.

You've lost yourself here. Thats a bad thing....

All of us have at some point.  All of us with social problems, so don't feel too strange.
 
Elkapan said:
Where to begin?

I'm a tragic figure. Foolish and hopelessly lost. I'm 32 now. I would say my life was last on track, aged 20.
At this age, I was studying software development at university, achieving good grades— I had a promising life ahead of me. However, due to social anxiety, I struggled to make friends, I didn't fit in well. I met a girl the same age online, beautiful, creative, e&c. Over time we fell in love. Trouble was, she lived near London—300 miles away. I traveled a few times to meet her. The connection was amazing, she was the love of my life. Foolishly, I abandoned my studies, and used what remained of my student loan to rent a room in a shared house from an unscrupulous private landlord near London. To my horror, and complete lack of surprise, the majority of the residents seemed to be made up of good looking Australian rugby-player type young men. 

Being an introvert, I watched in nervous silence, as they grew each day more and more intimate with my very beautiful new girlfriend. In the shared kitchen each morning, they would almost line up to kiss her head as she cooked. In a new place, feeling isolated, without any social support, I became overloaded with anxiety and jealously. Even her best friend was her ex-boyfriend, she would say: "Of course I love you more than Ryan, but don't tell him I said that!" She would also stay over his place at times. After 6-7 months, it was getting too much. All she wanted to do was drink with the young men in the house, she seemed overly preoccupied with what they thought of her. One time, she said she was going out to get drinks for another session. I left a regrettable note on our bed calling her a "slut", before storming out for a long walk. When I returned, I found they had locked me out, the men hurled ice cubes from their cooler at me from the window, swore and threatened me—she had shown them the note. It was only after I threatened to call the landlord, they unlocked the door. I found her dead drunk stinking of vodka. After some slurred histrionics on her part, she tumbled down the stairs. Whereupon the men, helpfully aided her to the top, by each grabbing a tit and an ass apiece. I had to convince her the water I was giving her was vodka before I get her to our room. Fortunately, not long after this incident the young men moved back to Australia.

Things seemed to run smooth again for the next 2-3 months, and for a brief time I was happy, deeply in love; and I she thought was too. Then, suddenly, she stops sleeping with me, she became standoffish and would react angrily to my pleas. Then, one night, she didn't come home. It wasn't until the next day, I saw her in our room, after work. I asked where she was the night before, I was worried sick and was calling her phone, and her friends numbers--no one knew, or would say. She said, she stayed at the "Palace Hotel" nearby to clear her head. The next day after work, I call into the Palace Hotel to check the logbook. It was a Palace "Hotel" in name only, it was a bar. When I told her this, she just grinned—I in saw in that grin, for the first time something sick in her nature. She would bat away all my questions as if they were the buzzing of an annoying gnat. The next night, again she is not home, but this time, I don't have my set of key to into the house. I call and call. It goes through to voicemail. I'm worried about her. I threaten to call the police, I'm sick with worry, and I'm locked out on a cold, frosty Novemember night. The hours go by, I'm calling and calling. Standing by the house, a car pulls up, a brand new BMW 250i, and there she is with this guy I've never seen before. And they just ******* stare at me, as I scream "who is this?" But I knew well enough. She drops the keys out the window and they drive off. I don't see her til the next night. At this point, I'm not angry so much, but completely crushed. I just want to move back to Manchester--but no money. I'd have to work another few weeks. I loved her so much. I have never felt such a world of pain. She seperates the beds, and I cry myself to sleep every night. I say, "so long as I'm here, promise me you'll never bring him into this house." She promised. But sure enough, a few days later, she and her friends and the fella are all laughing away in the kitchen. Whilst I remained locked in the bedroom. This humilitating routine continues on for 3-4 weeks. But the pyschological trauma didn't end there. 

She knew, I would wait up at night, hoping she would return home rather than spend the night at his. I would sit by the window. One night, around midnight, they pulled up in his car and parked outside the window. She proceeded to straddle him, and messed him right there in plain sight. This incident, destroyed what was left of my mind. I had taken to shaking fits, and cutting myself; I thought about suicide constantly- I still couldn't afford to move back, because I was paying off our backlog of rent. I would write dark, sucidial pages of writings and stash them beneath our bed. She spread rumours, that I "had lost my mind -- "mistreated" her, was pyschologically unstable. Justifying her affair. And because she was a beautiful young girl, her friends all rallied to her side. I was treated like honeysuckle and a unwanted leper by everyone. I returned to Manchester. Broken. Mentally deranged. Hateful of women. And all humanity.

Once I got my own place, I became a recluse, and in time an alcoholic. To this day I have not slept with another woman—10 years. I never once sought out their company. In my early to mid 20s, I read a great deal of socialist literature. I became a Marxist, and joined a Trotskyist party. My worldview of contending classes, shaped my relationship to the economy; and my political outlook. Capitalism, was just another inhuman and monstrous lie. I lived by the philosophy of, "Travaillez Jamais"--- never work! And despite a several, 6-7 temp. admin jobs over this time, I never did. Preferring, instead, to shun society. To live on welfare, and spend more and more time in isolation. Many years passed like this. For 2-3 weeks I speak to no one! Years of this. I studied a four year PhD in English Lit. Before, leaving it incomplete, and now longer finishable; due to depression. A familiar, half-baked effort. My life since then, has been marked by cynicism, alcoholism, misanthopy and a rejection of all I see as false and duplicitous. Then, one day—this leads us to the final part of my story— a perverse desire struck me. A desire to suffer. To be exploited by capitalism, to be admist its most exploited—to feel my body abused, my spirit crushed by laborous, and meaningless suffering.  

Luckily for me there was just such a job. As a picker for a well known company, in the middle of a nowhere industrial estate, known for brutally exploiting unskilled, foreign nationals. I applied and got the job. Sure enough, it was everything I desired. I watched as workers collapsed through exhausation, to be taken away by an ambulance. The work was so taxing, in our 20-30km day treks, that welts and blisters the size of garden peas would burst inside my steel toe cap boots, causing a glorious shower of pain. The more I suffered the more I desired to suffer. An endless loop of suffering-desire. And desiring-suffering. It seemed, I had finally found my place—at the very bottom of society. I never expected to fall in love. 

Anna. The moment I saw her mid-20s, pale, uniquely beautiful; and later knew her empathy and intelligence. She reminded me of the haunting, oddly beautiful, old movie actresses: Mary Astor, Georgia Hale, Bacall... We exchanged a few work-related words. She was Romanian. Immediately, I rush home and start learning Romanian. I practice everyday, with a Romanian fellow on the way to work. Finally, when I can speak 2-3 sentences, I present her with my achievement: "Ințeleg puțin român. Dar voi învata mai mult în timp." I joke, and tell her I used to pronounce timp, as pimp; and how awkward that could of been. She replies with a sharp "Yes!" cutting me off, and hurries away. You fool. You should have known better. You've embarassed yourself-- she's knows you're not interested in the language, but in her! I chide myself. 
Everyday, I work to exhaustion. I lost 10kg in a such a short time. Then, one day, sharing a bus on route to work. She descends from the upper floor, and our eyes meet. And though, I am preparing to tear my gaze away. Our eyes are locked for 3-4 seconds—and I can only describe it as a shared soul-seeing. A rare, suprahuman occurance. From then on, her attitude towards me changed completely. We would take any chance to talk about a whole range of topics, always with a joyful and intense participation. And how smart, and opinionated she was! I was soaring! My feet no longer blistered painfully, but carried away, by colorful dreams of a life with Anna. Anna, became a reason to live and breathe! To look on her, was to see all the beauty in the world manifest. She would touch my scanner and adjust its straps. She complimented, I was "the most one of the intelligent person here." Oh, Anna! I woiuld crawl on my stomach, like a louse to hear those words again. Then, it happened... She had a Romanian boyfriend-- not only that, he worked in the very same warehouse. I suddenly start seeing them together everywhere. At this point, I'm madly in love with her. And I'm desperately confused. Look, you recluse, you dreamer. Say, you do win her over, what kind of a life can a no-friends, no-direction recluse like you offer her? If you love her, you will want her to be happy-- she'll be happier with him. 
Then, the moral confliction, its argument: "You know what it's like to lose the one you love. You can't cause, by your own actions, another man that pain. Besides, how do you know she even like you that way?" It would be painful to describe in too much detail, my remaining month there. In the canteen, on the bus, in queue to leave the warehouse, passing in the aisles or shopfloor. Everywhere, in the corner of my eye, I could see her pale, lovely face staring at me, trying desperately, to catch my attention. And on every occassion, I avoided eye contact -it was obvious to everyone- and where I could avoided her company. Inside, it felt like I was sludging around raw tuna for organs. On my last day there before I decided to quit. It seemed she had enough, walked down the aisle and head on into me, she stopped and gazed at me again, somewhat impetuously. I looked at her, sighed, and turned away. Only to see her back as she walked away. That was the last I saw of her- 9 months ago.

Since then, I thought about her all the time. A month later, I even walked to the bus station to meet her after work hours, but she wasn't there. Then, last week, I heard they were recruiting again. Having fallen into my old ways of reclusion and idle stupor. I applied and got my old job back. She is going to be, perhaps, frightened to see me? Even now, I question, whether she was really staring, because my behavior was odd-- or whether the whole thing was ridiculous, a premature bewitchment; and her many curious, and puzzled looks. There is even the chance, she will know I returned for her. And it may be entering into the creepy/stalker territory. I only know I love her. And I will have enslaved myself, again, for nothing, if she is not there tomorrow.

Well for some reason this story connected. In my twenties, I remember agonizing over a girl who was 17. I was in the army and overseas, she was the daughter of a pastor whose family was in Europe in a ministry to the military. So out of my league, I dreamed about her occasionally. You know those dreams that stick with you days later, affecting your emotions. She was really nice to me, friendzone nice - most men can tell. Like yourself, I had long talks with her.  She talked about her life, friends, almost everything and I did the same thing.  There were a few times she flirted with me, and of course that boosted my hopes, even though I knew they were false.  Then 0ne day she asked me to bring some cute single soldiers to church with me.  I was so devastated by her saying that....."how could you ask me that??"  (inside my head I was asking myself)  There was this one soldier friend of mine, "Bill" - clean, nice looking, good to the core, and I KNEW if I brought him, they would be together.  You know what I did, I brought him because inside, I knew it was the right thing to do.  And it happened exactly like I thought it would.  They became a couple almost immediately.  (story in itself)

But to the point,  that wasn't the first time in my lonely single years where I would find some girl I developed a crush on, then fantasized in my mind about being together.  Eye contact, politeness, all equated with "maybe she likes me" and I'll admit I even had some of my own stalkerish ways where I'd "accidentally" find myself bumping into her or being in the same place and time coincidentally-on purpose. And it's easy to fall into depression when you allow these things happen.  In your case it was extreme.

I'll state the obvious here, you have to start doing more to protect yourself.  A little boundary use would be a good start, by making sure your emotions don't run away with you "next time" because there will be a next time. It's an act of will, but YOU keep women in the friendzone yourself each time. until of course, opportunity really and realistically presents itself.  

How many poor cashier girls are out there in the world suffering from people with fantasies like this? Their job is to smile and be friendly. And how many lonely, socially dysfunctional men come through their line every day, and then wonder (and post on forums like this) about how they lost the chance to ask for her number? No offense, but you fall into this category, and you need to begin changing your way of perceiving people, and the world in general.  90% of solving a problem is knowing there's a problem. 

Interpreting a woman's interest is tricky, but not rocket science.  And in your case, I think I'd start from the end, and work the other way around.  Thats done by assuming the next girl is NOT interested, even if your initial thoughts are that she is. Stop creating in your mind false hope and continuing this pattern.  Don't be like the guy in the desert, with an empty canteen, using up what's left of his strength chasing mirages.
 

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