Replacing our fathers: Part I
When men most need help
Is when our instincts make us less likely to receive it
hat you have to understand, is your father was your model for God.
If you're male and you're Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if your father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?
What you end up doing is you spend your life searching for a father and God.
What you have to consider is the possibility that God doesn't like you. Could be, God hates us. This is not the worst thing that can happen.
There is no longer a passage into manhood. Upon reflection, I had one, though I wasn't told, and it took me decades to understand what it was. I reflect on the similarities between that day, and my red pill MAP. I post this as a contrast to what a man is capable of, if given the tools, versus being an island, in the world of the female imperative.
Male Social Matrix
My parents were divorced when I was 5. Moved to a small town in western Canada, to a man I barely saw. All I knew about him, was he was an asshole. Took me almost 20 years to understand why. He was a plow horse, frustrated, AMOG, in dark triad parlance, a King. Worked 16 hour days for 20 years, came home to a vicious cycle of disrespect, begetting disrespect.
He resented the family, the leeches that took from him, and gave nothing in return. He couldn't do much but lash out, and so he received the same treatment in kind. He slept around with whatever road trash would put out, and self-medicated himself with bad food, good booze, and the worst kind of drugs. He was surrounded by the same. Friends, all divorced, all forced to pay for their women. Left because they had children, and the only language the men understood was lashing out. I can only imagine the frustration of a man who only knew how to fight, being crippled of his one way of venting frustration without any guidance of healthier mechanisms. Half of them died before reaching 60, the ones that remain, shells of men. Even as a child, I knew what that meant.
We used to sit at the bottom of the stairs, the 5 of us kids, when the parents fought. It was sort of a clubhouse for us. My brother always had his aluminum bat, I always sat at the higher step. We talked about all sorts of things, nothing I can remember. The only real moment I had with the man was once, when I was home from my first year of college. 20 years of fights, and I'm not why, but this one was different. Something happened, he was lashing out, she rolled her eyes or otherwise dismissed it as a childish rant. He stormed across the room, and I stood up and got right in the middle. All i said was hey.
I remember him grabbing me by my neck, me holding my ground, and my brother, on the landing at the top of the stairs, still with that aluminum bat he had since he was 5. Mom, to her credit, broke it up before it went any further. I know full well I was going to get beat down. I was outweighed by a good 70 pounds, and the man had done hard labour his whole life, I was a fucking fine arts student, you do the math. I was never Stoney, I was always her bastard kid, until that day. Typical sandbox, he treated me like a man from that point on, and I jokingly regret it to this day.
The reward you get is the respect from the other men in the Matrix, who have witnessed your response to the challenge and your bravery for taking it on, and who don't count your loss against you. You might get your ass kicked, but no one else is going to say shit about you, knowing that you're willing to defend your territory. --Ironwood
The next day, we were in the kitchen, and he started to unload everything onto me. The story about how his old man was the same way. Used to beat the shit out of his mother as he put it. Finally one day he says enough of that… And proceeded to tell me how he put his father into the hospital.
You're not a man, until you put your old man into the hospital.
It was the weirdest piece of wisdom I have ever heard, and I've never been able to shake it.
I get it now.
I picture a man sold the beta dream, and his subsequent disillusionment from it. He never had a positive role model growing up, but was still expected to live up to that positive life script. The stuff he learned, he learned because all men learn it. Was actually pretty successful, started as a heavy machine operator, ended up with lots of poon, 3 daughters and 2 stepsons, a giant company, new money I believe they call it. Still, what was his reward? A divorced mother of two, resource leeches. We were kids, we didn't know any better. She was a woman, she was doing what she had to do to achieve optimal hypergamy. He had no way to deal with this, so he devolved into a drug using, alcoholic. I haven't talked to him in 15 years, and I don't expect to. He's got a new wife now, and another family started I hear. His three daughters will never speak to him again either. He is life's cautionary tale. When you read about life not caring for men, this is a stark example.
My blue pill upbringing was due to distancing myself from his lessons. Instead of taking the good parts, I wrote it off wholesale. I wasn't successful in high school, I wasn't successful in college. I was a great orbiter, I use the phrase man standing among giants. Everyone around me was amazing in their chosen missions. Most of them are now brought down by the women they have in their lives, but that is another story.
I somehow lucked out and had an epiphany. I learned PUA, Mystery Method. I hit the gym, got a black belt in TKD, and joined the navy at 23, straight out of university on a drunken rant. The pussy flowed, but I never fully fit into a blue pill life, there was too much of those experiences in me to believe in the dream. Slowly, but surely, life chipped away at the edges. I bought into the myth of queen and country, noble sacrafice etc. I bought into the myth of the unicorn. I bought into the myth that happiness came by being everything that man was not.
And life caught up with me. I was early thirties, downing SSRI's like candy, drinking heavily, gaining weight, a set of sociopaths working to put me in a military prison, and a disrespectful harpy, giving me that same eye-roll that roused me from my slumber 15 years before. And like before, with a simple hey, I ended up here.
My map was simple. I never wanted to end up in a position of being taken advantage of, or taken for granted. I look to my post on new years resolutions as an example.
I hit the gym, got back into shape.
I cut the medication cold-turkey
I put in my release, let go of the anger I had for the organization.
I finished another university degree, got the military to pay for it.
I saved up enough money for a fuck you fund.
And I started living like I was single again.
Essentially, I built a frame from the ground up.
I didn't tell anyone any of this, I just did it. I didn't just pass shit tests, I nuked them. I remember initially talking too much, statements during a shit test like "At some point, I will be better, so cut this shit out now" which didn't do anything. I just quietly went back to the gym, and lifted. I took the risky approach of defending myself legally, fully committing to the situation I was in. I was told to make a plea, take a little hit, it made everyone's lives easier. I've been on the other side of a half dozen court-martials, and knew what I was doing, with all the experience I've had, I was a borderline paralegal anyways. The stakes became real. I stopped cold turkey on drinking and medication. I made myself scarce or used the iron when they happened, and never speak of them. this is probably the first time I've referred to them, and I don't see myself doing it again.
The main events
I had received two letters, in quick succession. The first, was from the crown, saying that the entire year and a half long ordeal was going away. They call these things administrative violence for a reason. I worked long, and I worked hard, in the end, it paid off. To date, this is the only validation I have ever proudly accepted in my life.
The second was a letter from my CO, calling me a bag of shit, but being forced to accept me back, because they were desperate, with a few personal attacks peppered in. I framed it and put it on my desk at work. I had taken the time to add more than a full time course-load. Between the punishment without due cause I was already fighting, the full time job I still had, I had taken 1.5 times the course-load of a full time student. I put in my release, and let the organization go. Their shit tests stopped permanently. It was some of the best work days I had ever had in an organization.
On the home-front.
I was riding the high of happiness from this all. Was going on a date to a lounge and whiskey bar that we always wanted to do. I got a vile shit test back, she wasn't going, and I was to stay home and placate this mood. I got dressed and I left. I had a great time, left the phone at home, and ended the night up on the buildings terrace. Met a bunch of girls that night, eventually practicing my french in the hot-tub with all five. During the night, Molson (our security guard) was being asked by a pissed off harpy if I was up here. I am a lucky man, in that I can see the exact moment where I had control of my life again in this relationship. I laugh now at every tough talking women who describes leaving her RP poser behind, because I know how it works in real life.
In that one moment, I saw the look of a woman who went from an angry, bitter harpy, full of condemnation, to one who understood what was finally happening. She would shape up, or be replaced. I never treated it as if I was teaching her a lesson, or showing her a consequence, it was as as certain as it was inevitable, like the sun coming up in the morning.
This is how things would be, what you do with that information is now on you.
She meekly asked when I was coming home, I said after my drink. She waited, and unloaded the mother of all comfort tests onto me. If you haven't had a main event while drunk on scotch with another in hand, I would suggest you try it. It's a surreal experience.
That is when the leadership began.
This is another topic, for another day.
There were two men in this story. Both at the end of their rope. Both having their enough moments. One had nothing, he was alone, and he could only lash out at the world, an uncaring world that he gave his pound of flesh to, but received nothing in return. One had tools to succeed given to him by many men, over many years. He had other men to hold him to task. He had a plan, and he was steadfast. Let it all go, built it up again from square one. One man in this story is old, broken, and off to live his own life. I have no idea if he's happy. The other is now enjoying his new red pilled life, spreading this path to happiness and realistic expectations, to men willing to listen and work for it.
I now know the lessons I was given in my youth. They were harsh lessons, and they were surrounded by horrible lessons, but they were there.
Posted 11th November 2016 by stonepimpletilists