Gonna respond to folks individually, here goes:
Wayout:
You guys are my team!
L M McCoy:
I know there are lots of Hispanic women, including in Baltimore, but I never had any greater amount of success with them than with anyone else.
And I don’t have yellow fever. I’m just here because China is A) not run by feminists and B) offered me employment.
Borealis:
Thanks for that website, I’ve now had a chance to read some of the articles, and I think PIED might be part of the problem. I look at porn for several hours a day on average, and I’ve been using it since I was 13 or 14. I definitely have the qualities of what they call a “long rebooter”. The thing is, I know porn is bad (I may not have known quite how bad until YBOP, but I always knew it was bad), and I’ve been trying to stop for years now, but I don’t know what to do when I get lonely, and I start having existential panic, the type that comes from a years-long buildup of isolation and alienation from the human race (minus cold approaches), and porn is the only thing (available) that eases that feeling. It still comes back to finding a chick – as the guys on YBOP openly admit, having a girlfriend is 9 times out of 10 the factor that makes or breaks a rebooting attempt. So right back to square one.
Wayout:
I tried a sex therapist back in ’08 or ’09. The cost was prohibitive, and the therapist wasn’t that attractive to me, so I took a few sessions and then called it quits. We didn’t get to actual sex, since the first half-dozen sessions were supposed to be fully clothed and not overtly sexual. She had the right idea, getting me comfortable with touch, relaxing in the presence of a woman. I probably would have continued were it not for the cost – these therapists are at LEAST $100 an hour (mine was almost $200), and I can’t even come close to affording that.
I also know I need style makeover. I’ve been sitting on this piece of knowledge for years and years, wondering what to do with it. Where do I go to get a makeover? Who do I call? How do I know I’m getting good advice? How do I know they aren’t gonna make me attractive to the wrong demographic (i.e. gay men), rather than chicks? Do you have any suggestions?
Cobra:
I’ve never had my testosterone levels checked.
And no, I don’t have any fun when I go out. You hit a major nail on the head there. I don’t have any fun in ANYthing I do. I’ve lost the ability to have fun – I don’t think my neural receptors for fun are even there anymore. Well, ok, maybe that’s not true: in the rare event that I get a little bit of affection from girl (which happens about once every six months), I start to have fun – just often enough to show me that my brain still has the chemical capacity for fun.
I can hear the advice coming: OP, you just need to live for YOU, not for women, go live a life that YOU enjoy! Do things that make YOU happy! Forget about women for a while – who needs ‘em! You shouldn’t need a woman to be happy. Screw ‘em! Go find cool stuff to do, and start living a cool life. If you live a cool life, women will come to you.
Thing is, I’ve already been there. I’ve tried that – forgetting about women and trying to develop hobbies and stuff. But it’s so past the point where that’s a viable solution anymore. I’m standing there playing volleyball, thinking, “when am I gonna get female contact?” I’m out hiking, thinking “this sure is a beautiful forest, but… what about titties?” Or “gosh that’s an awesome 3000 year old temple, but goddammit, when am I gonna get to be with a fucking chick? Why does the world suck so fucking bad?”
That ‘having fun’ ship saaaaaailed. A long time go.
I'm at an impasse. My emotional center just refuses to enjoy ANYTHING until I have a chick in my arms. There’s no negotiations, no compromise. It’s chick or nothing. This is the condition that my limbic self is in. Consciously, I can tell myself “having fun is the WAY TO get chicks” all I want, but limbically, every moment of existence is an excruciating ordeal, and the only thing that ameliorates and reverses that is feminine contact.
I don't want to beat a dead horse, but imagine if you’ve been working all your life, working hard - but never received a paycheck. Every employer you work for promises you pay – they keep promising, saying “next week”, week after week. Eventually, you realize he’s never going to pay you, so you quit and move on to the next job. There it starts all over again. In 12 years of honest, hard, sweaty work, you’ve never once been paid. How much longer are you gonna keep holding faith that work=pay? I’m in that situation, and it’s come to the point where my body, my soul, just refuses to work anymore. I’m finding it increasingly hard to even go out and do approaches anymore, because I’m just thinking, “yea, I’m hardworking, I’m courageous, I’m a real man – but none of it counts for shit anyway. What’s the point?” So instead of working, I feel like I oughta just protest for some goddamn pay. I feel like just sitting out in front of “women headquarters” with a sign that says “What do I want? PAY! When do I want it? NOW!”
I get that this is a losing attitude. I get that I’m setting myself up for failure by thinking this way. I’m trying my best to stay positive, to stay success-minded. Overall, the balance is still slightly in favor – my ship is still floating above water, barely. I can still put in the work, and I still am – I’m still talking to girls, still holding faith that this will one-day pay off. Otherwise, I would have joined PUAhate by now. I still know, deep down inside, that there IS a way, and that I CAN be successful.
The point is, I can put in the effort, and do what I believe I need to do. But ‘having fun’ while doing it… that’s just out of the question at this point.
Sorry if I sound negative, I am kinda venting. Venting is second priority – the first priority is finding a way through the mess, to success. I left the comfort of familiarity, and moved 12000 miles away to a communist country with strange food so that I’d have a greater sexual market value. I’m still here, still employed, still lots of nice, physically-fit, feminine girls to approach and make grunting noises to while pantomiming. Keep the advice comin’, it’s greatly appreciated!
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Days of Broken Arrows:
1) I experienced moderate teasing for my height. It wasn’t constant – it happened infrequently, but when it did, it always seemed to happen at the worst time, in the most crucial situations, from the people (friends) who I last expected to hear it from.
My family, however, shot down my self-esteem not about height, but about different things. Especially sex (no surprise there, eh?) My dad had a massive porn collection (every issue of Playboy since 1972), and would sometimes call me over to look at a picture of a model, and then say “you like that? Hahaha, I’ll bet you wouldn’t even know what to do with it!” He’d say things like that pretty frequently. “You like them knockers? Woooo boy, she wouldn’t even give you the time of day!” Sometimes he would say this stuff in front of my friends. And then there was my mom – the most irrational, emotionally frustrated, hardcore-propagandized feminist ballbusting bitch you could imagine. She would spend 30+ minutes to an hour screaming at me, the harshest, loudest, shrillest, chalkboard-type screeching possible, with teeth bared, with her face an inch from my face, so close I could see the bloodvessels bulging in her eyes which were beaming out pure, intense, unmitigated hatred – all because I forgot to do homework, or because one of my friends tracked some mud into the house and temporarily soiled her perfect white carpet (although once I started studying psychology, I quickly realized that those trivial things were not REALLY what it was about). And if I attempted to defend myself or yell back, she would immediately turn around and storm off into her room, and shut the door, and refuse to have any communication with me for days at a time – until I apologized (for defending myself). This type of drama would occur once a week, at MINIMUM. Recently I’ve started to wonder if maybe she was using me as substitute ROMANTIC PARTNER (due to my emotionally-absentee dad watching tv all night and not bothering to bring any masculine presence into her life). She may have been using me as a substitute, as a romantic partner, and having “lovers-quarrels” with me – as if I were her cheating boyfriend or something. The more I think about it, the more accurate it seems, which would indeed make it an insidious form of sexual abuse. I also witnessed both of them doing this (shouting insanely for hours at a time) to my grandma when she was living with us, not knowing that I was witnessing elder abuse. She also did it to one of my friends, and HIS father, because he didn’t vote for me for president of the young democrats club. A lot of people have told me “oh you poor thing, they yelled at you – big deal. It’s not like they HIT you.” But the more insidious, the more difficult to recognize the abuse is, the more dangerous it is. When a father punches his kids in the face and beats their asses, the kid and everybody knows it’s abuse. There’s no doubt, no second-guessing, and there are many, many social organizations that can help the kid and give him therapy. No one ever tells him “what you experienced isn’t abuse. Grow up.” But when the abuse isn’t physical, it’s difficult to recognize for what it is, which makes it go even deeper into the psyche without being challenged.
It’s also worth mentioning that I never, ever, ever, ever ever saw my parents express any intimacy with eachother. I’ve never heard them having sex (despite them usually sleeping with their bedroom door open). I’ve never SEEN them exchange a loving touch, or anything to suggest that they were even a couple. Not even a GLANCE of suggestiveness. The most my dad will do is hug my mom awkwardly, like an actor playing a part, for 3 seconds, and then say “I’m sorry my love” in an imitation redneck accent. When I was in highschool, I did the obligatory parental-room-condom/oil/etc-search, where you search your parents’ bedroom for sex toys and the like – and it never turned up anything, not even a candle. Even when my parents watch TV, they usually do it in different rooms, so that my mom can watch her shows, and my dad can watch his. I’ve never witnessed them, or any of my relatives for that matter, engaging in even the briefest, lightest evidences of basic intimacy. And what’s even worse, is they think it’s a completely normal way to live, and they self-report that they’re a “happy couple” who “have difficulties but always manage to work things out.” They think it’s normal to live in the same house and never even touch eachother. I had no role models for what sexuality or intimacy looks like. My home (and most of my brainiac, superiority-complex-infested jewish community of Pikesville) was almost totally sterile. It was a perfect cocktail for the situation I’m now in. If you wanted to socially engineer a person with the least chance of ever having sex, you would have used my town and family.
I hope this doesn’t come across as whining. I’m just trying to be as candid as possible, to make those helping me better informed, as well as for a little bit of catharsis for myself.
2) No claigsrist here
, Plus, the concept of “sexual healing” that we’re talking about here is probably completely alien and unheard of to Chinese people, just like vegetarianism (don’t worry, it have no meat, just pork!).
I can see it now: “I’m a virgin and need a slow introduction to sexuality.” [Girl grabs dick and starts jerking it. “I rub slow. Here slow. You like?”
3) and 4) I have some experience with pain-killers, and they do make me more chill, and easier to have “fun”. I’ve also tried Ecstasy a few times, but one time was by myself in the forest, where it gave me a Buddha-like enlightenment experience, and the other times when I did it around people, it gave me a kind of panic attack and I had to go off into a room by myself, where I quickly felt better.
6) I’ve always wondered what kind of hat to wear. I don’t like ball-caps – they look so unoriginal, American-sheeple-like, and I don’t like baseball in the slightest. I feel like a poser whenever I wear one. Any other ideas?
7) I can’t stand jews, so I can’t imagine going to synagogue to pick up chicks. Jews invert logic and turn all truths about the world upside-down and inside-out. When I see a jewish girl, walking around in her little jewish bubble, oblivious to the entire world and all non-jewish-approved aspects of reality, I want to shake her and slap her, and go “wake the fuck up!!!”. (and it’s not racist for me to say that, since I was raised in a jewish household in a 70% jewish community, and did 10+ years of hebrew school – so my opinions come from experience, not ignorance!)
Tigre:
I’ll keep Bacardi Breezers in mind if I decide to start drinking. However, I really, really, really don’t like alcohol. There are very few things in this world that I’ve used the word “hate” to describe my feelings for – and alcohol is one of those few. I just loathe what it does to people. In my opinion and experience (and this is just my opinion, and I might be totally off about this), it seems like it makes them reptilian. It turns off all capacity for love, affection, higher consciousness, and interpersonal connection, and renders people bumbling sub-human robots that are breathing, and technically alive, but have no mental processes going on. That’s my opinion. Maybe I’m really far off.
I do know why people have suggested it. That very “animalistic” condition can be a great help in sex, especially when the problem is the inability to connect with my baser nature, due to constant interference from my intellect. Drinking would shut off my intellect, thereby freeing my animalistic urges to express themselves. I understand that.
But it throws the baby out with the bathwater. All of those “higher faculties” that alcohol shuts off, are some of the most central aspects of making love to someone. If I lose those, then I see there being no point to even bother.
Maybe I’ll order some phenibut, like Gorgiass suggested.
I should also mention that I’ve tried gaming on weed, and I got some pretty stunning results, interest-wise (girls looking at me like I’m the coolest, most interesting person they’ve ever seen, and wondering if I’m a famous person that they somehow don’t recognize). But it didn’t get me any closer to TOUCHING and getting intimate.
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Ok, I should give you a general update on my situation…
I’m at the yoga center now, been spending weekdays here and weekends in the city (I teach on Saturdays).
I started doing some light touching, during conversations. The pattern usually goes like this:
1. I'll tease the girl a little bit
2. She pretends to be sad and does a little fake cry/pouting
3. I 'comfort' her, involving a hand on her shoulder.
That's the extent of my physical touch for the moment, but at least I'm touching. What next? What's the next level?