I'm about to seriously expose myself. I mean, in a way that might make some people like me a little less. Or a lot less. If you thought this was too much information, you definitely won't be able to stomach the heinous truth I'm going to reveal about myself in this entry. I suffer from this disease. I think it's important to share, because the more we talk about this, the sooner we can figure out how to end this needless and tragic epidemic. Summon your courage if you dare, and read on to see...Asshole Over Good Guy Syndrome Revealed.

I fully expect to see comments of a certain nature following this entry. Like "Boy, you sure are a crazy bitch!" So let me just strike preemptively and steal that thunder. I'm totally a crazy bitch. And I know it.

I know this is not an original dysfunction. But it's impossible for me to like any man who would ever like me. I figure anyone who would be willing to tolerate (let alone love) a woman as neurotic, self-absorbed, and overly-analytical as myself has got to be seriously damaged goods.

I prefer the distant, inaccessible, stand-offish types. I just love the way they make me feel inadequate and unloveable. They're my ideal men! If there was a Venice Helena doll, she would be partner to Commitmentphobe Ken. He comes with a whole assload of excuses! Pull his string to hear one of fifteen Action Dick phrases like, "Let's just see where this goes," and "I'll call you." Apologies sold separately.

Here are these Nice Guys, who want to pay attention to me, say flattering things, and don't make me guess what they feel. What do they get? Promised phone calls that never come. Unreturned email. And varying levels of warmth, depending on what Asshole I'm currently obsessed with. From Invisible Mode (if the Asshole is paying any attention to me at all, the Nice Guy vanishes entirely) to Near-Relationship Status (when the Asshole stops responding completely, the Nice Guy is temporarily revealed to me as the Perfect Man). Unfortunately, the last (often blissful) phase endures only until I can find the next perfect Asshole. Then I become completely engrossed (again) in attaining his affection, approval, and admiration. Which, of course, I'll never get.

Because he's an asshole!

I'm ashamed. This behavior is the very thing I detest from others; yet I do it myself. We all seem to do it. The bigger a bitch I am, the more men are interested. Show them any tenderness, and they retreat into safety like a sea anemone jerkwad.

Ask me why I do it? I don't know. Could it have to do with that high school teacher who crossed the line with me one summer? Maybe. My distant father? Probably. The point is that, I've known for a while about this problem. And I really do think sometimes that I am over it, have grown past it. But then some Asshole comes along...I'm going to do my best to stop this pattern. I know better! Now all I have to do is stay away from Assholes and stock up on Nice Guys.

I do have to admit that the last Nice Guy held out against my attempts to thwart him for an awfully long time. But I can't imagine anyone else would put up with even one week of my bullshit. Only one way to find out...bring it on, Nice Guys. I dare you.

On a related note, donations to the Poethelena Psychiatrist Copay Fund can be made to PayPal using my email address. For mere pennies a day, you can have a paid professional listen to this whiny, self-gratifying tripe instead of having to see my phobias, traumas, and neuroses splattered all over the page!

Although, I guess you wouldn't come here if you didn't like it. Who are you sick people? Oh, that's right...the kind of sick people who would care about a train wreck like me. God love you, you crazy kids.