Women who are damaged beyond repair

Men, especially younger men who have a scarcity mentality, believe that they have to accept a woman for all her flaws. What’s even more appalling is that men act on this fallacious belief and attempt to try to “fix” a woman.

You can’t turn a whore into a housewife. It’s human nature. Regardless of the potential benefit or detriment, people rarely change. Don’t be captain save a hoe. The events that were instrumental to shaping the way she is are beyond your control. This holds true for both men and woman; an individual’s personality traits are shaped during childhood and early adolescence. You’re not a psychotherapist, you’re not her dad, or her husband, so don’t even try. You aren’t that special. Get it out of your head that your kindness and compassion will show her the error of her ways and make her turn over a new leaf.

Social hierarchies exist for a reason. Societal programming will have you believe that we live in an age of egalitarianism. FUCK NO. There will always be people who are richer, more intelligent, and more powerful than you and I. While we play the cards we’re dealt with, there is a direct correlation between the decisions you’ve made and the richness of your life (or lack thereof). A series of bad decisions lead to a poor quality of life, vice versa. If you get into a relationship with a toxic woman, her toxic influence will suck the life force out of you. While damaged women make great fuck buddies, if you catch feelings for a damaged woman, her erratic behaviour and instability will fuck your life up. You’ll find yourself unable to focus on your mission, you’ll find yourself constantly distracted, constantly thinking about her and how to fix her problems. This is not love, this is madness. I’ve been there before. I used to think that I could mould a damaged woman into my image of the perfect woman. I was wrong. My life became laced with drama, instability, and constant stress.

A conversation I had with this woman I recently introduced into my life inspired the writing of this article. She was one of those women who lost the ability to pair bond. She was the type of girl who’s life was in a mess. She was the type of girl who was chronically depressed, not knowing what she wanted in life. She had nothing going on in her life. Other than being able to offer a warm orifice for me to stick my penis into, she added nothing else of value to my life. She knew my sexual market value was higher than hers, that I wanted to be CEO of my own company one day, that I had a lot going on in my life, that my mission was the fundamental driving force of my life.

She lay her head on my shoulder and looked at me. As I gazed right into her eyes, she broke eye contact and looked away. She slapped me on the chest, telling me she hated it when I gave her that look. “What look?” I asked. “It’s like you’re gazing right into my soul” She replied.

“Ha, that’s funny.” “You have no soul. When I look into your eyes, I see nothing. Your eyes are empty, they have no life in them.” “Like your heart, your eyes are cold” “Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for whatever happened to you that made you become this way. But I’m not letting you into my life because you’ll bring chaos and destruction to it.” “Your life is a mess”. I said.

A moment of silence passed before she said :”I hate you because everything you said was true.” “Look, I didn’t want this to happen, I wanted a normal life, with a boyfriend. But…… then I met him……”

“Elaborate” I said. She cut me off, saying that it was complicated.

“The past is the past, if you constantly live in the past, you’ll never have a future.” “I used to be in your position when I was your age. I’ve moved past that now.” “I’m going to keep my distance from you, I know you’ll wreck my life if I keep you any closer.” “My life is great and I plan to keep it that way. If you walked out of my life, I wouldn’t even bat an eyelid.” I said.

As we got dressed to leave, I looked back at my life and how my heart melted for these women. I shook my head thinking of the times these women played the damsel in distress. As I watched her put on her lingerie and cocktail dress, I knew that her life would only take a downward spiral fuelled by drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and men like myself who could get her excited. Girls like her crave a form of escapism. Don’t cockblock yourself, don’t try to save them. They can’t and don’t want to be saved. They’re constantly in search of the next dangerous, exciting thing that gives them the next dopamine hit.

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