Lithose said:
What in the fuck. How is this phrase and a description of Shelly even in the same post? What kind of fucking dolls do the people in your part of hell play with?
I personally was there to hear strangers make this comment more than once, and my understanding of it is that typically a 4"2" humanoid figure with tits and hips, in most peoples" experience, is a doll. Think of "My Size Barbie". Such comments were always a bit disquieting to me, but I always settled on them being intended as sweet and the fact that if they knew her they"d relate her more to Chucky"s Bride served to counterbalance.
Also, think of some of the movies out there where the ugly duckling type girl gets a make-over and becomes a knockout. Well, that would be a stretch for Shelly, but the truth of this is that if she"d take better care of herself by investing a bit more time, effort, and money in her wardrobe, brush her hair more often (or wash it for that matter), splurge on glasses with frames that compliment her features rather than distort them, and carry herself with a bit more ladylike class, she could conceivably present an entirely different image.
But this merely serves to underscore what is at the root of all of this. Shelly"s self image is so fucking low that were she male, she"d be hooking up with her own personal Shelly. It"s sad but true, and this coexists with her self-aggrandizing attitude in a way that SHOULD scream "cognitive dissonance," and would if she"d apply more effort to her thoughts or honestly critique herself.
I should mention a few more things, since this post is already long. Nobody here should assume that I don"t critique myself as vividly and mercilessly as I do so for her, but I do get a different conclusion than anyone here can.
I do not regret my time with Shelly, and the reasons go back to just how fucked up I was when she and I got together. More times than I can count, I was approached by absolute knockouts and shot them down because I had a fear of getting involved with any woman who knows she"s beautiful, due to my perceptions of motivations among such people to be self-entitled, high-maintenance, flighty, wishy-washy barbie dolls.
Shelly changed my thinking by showing me what a bullshit stereotype I had allowed myself to become entrenched in, and today I wonder just what kind of experiences and social differences from today my life would have, had I not been so convolutedly self-deceived in such an asinine way. She proved that one need not be a knockout to harbor such detestable traits.
Additionally, as she put me down constantly and exhibited every trait that critiques in the bitter period following past relationships made me question myself over, she made me realize what a fucking absolutely awesome job I once did with so many things that my motivation and confidence have returned. More than once I told her, "You"re trying to break me down, but the way you"re doing it is only building me up." In essence, Shelly helped me more by being so fucked up than years of therapy did, so I can"t say that I regret my time with her (social consequences notwithstanding).
This, in turn, almost --ALMOST-- makes me feel a sort-of sense of duty to point her in the right direction to help herself and turn HER life around. But, that"s neither my place, concern, nor worry. I can suggest the right path, but it"s up to her to take it. See, another thing she showed me is that trying to save people is more or less the most stupid thing a person can do when the person or persons in question refuse to save themselves -- a lesson I should have learned fucking LONG before age thirty.
Sorry for the long post, but some of this needed to be said. Interpersonal relationships always run deeper than what"s on the surface and what those outside the relationship can see.
So, again, I wish she"d straighten up, stop the poor me shit, and get some help before she winds up with a man who really is every bit the piece of shit she makes her exes out to be.