How the Red Pill fits into My Failed Marriage

Random, rough thoughts.

As soon as we got a dog when we were dating, sex went out the door. I instantly became a beta. Not a weak beta that follows my girlfriend’s orders, but a loving, caring, cooperative beta. Women are not sexually attracted to men who get things done in the home, especially for a pet or even children. Emotionally the X was ecstatic to see me love and care for our dog. But that didn’t make her want to hop onto top of me for spontaneous sex.

Shit tests went on hulk mode the instant we got engaged. Planning for the wedding, financing it, making major decisions for it, everything became a shouting match. I caved in. I didn’t hold frame. I reacted emotionally to almost each and every shit test she threw at me. I even acted emotionally to her family in front of her, which I thought would elevate my status in her eyes but it only made things worse, slowly but steadily.

Women are hard-wired to test men for their dominance, using weapons such as emotion, weakness, illogic, blame game, manipulation, indirection and victim mentality. Due to this, I find tremendous relief that I no longer have to be burdened by a woman anymore for the rest of my life.

In eleven long months of marriage (excuse the sarcasm), my ex-wife liberated herself from such alien concepts like loyalty and sacrifice. What is the point of marriage if there is no stability and security? she may ask. But the key is this: What is the point of marriage if there is no stability and security for her. This is feminine solipsism.

It’s not even about that. I may have been a stubborn asshole about the lack of my income, but she could have compromised just as well. We could have traded our luxury rental apartment to something more affordable, while only increasing her commute from twenty to forty minutes. But no, she wanted her lux apt close to work. She would rather lose her husband than lose the nice digs. I existed primarily to help — no, I existed only to feed her comfortable lifestyle. Anything less and there’s the door. Which I took.

Women are experience addicts. They do not love, but love love. My ex-wife was not in love with me but in love with the idea of loving me. Why? Because experiences and ideas, as powerful as they can be, are fleeting and their effects can die quickly. Riding a roller coaster can be exhilarating, but you won’t be screaming out of excitement and adrenaline an hour after you left the amusement park.

Similarly, when the excitement and adrenaline of 1) meeting, 2) having sex for the first time, 3) moving in together, 4) traveling together, 5) getting a puppy together, 6) marriage proposal, 7) planning a wedding, 8) wedding ceremony, and 9) honeymoon fade away, there is nothing left for the woman to fight for, especially if the man isn’t a source of financial stability.

And shit, my ex didn’t even make it to #9— we had a few months gap between wedding and honeymoon. In the middle of the gap she calmly brought up, “Let’s divorce and go on the honeymoon as friends.” Talk about complete feminine idiocy. You know who else are idiots? Addicts. I was no longer the source of excitement and adrenaline for her, not even a source of financial stability — i.e., comfortable and instagram-able lifestyle financier — so I was no longer employable.

I started out as a dominant alpha to her. The third time we met we fucked. Just after a few texts back and forth — hey how’s it going sort of thing — I basically invited myself over to her place on a weeknight. why don’t i come over and let’s order in some food. One of the best texts I ever crafted as a dating single man. However, from the next morning onward, it went all downhill, but slowly. I just wanted to a nice fuck, but I ended up falling for her and mapping out our married lives together that fucking night. It would be eventually a slow death for me, too slow for me to notice I was getting killed. But the thing is, I was killing myself.

Glad to be alive again. I thank me for saving me self.