January 1974, Colorado state

Jason's dating project

Left alone to brood over the Christmas Break, my hostility towards women festered unchecked.  When school resumed in January, I was pretty much a nervous wreck any time I came within ten feet of a pretty girl.  I did not dare tell Dr. Hilton about Vanessa.  I had no idea how much Dr. Hilton and Dr. Fujimoto talked behind my back, but the last thing I wanted was to have Fujimoto hear how badly I had struck out with his personal secretary.  Fujimoto had enough evidence of my mediocrity as it was. 

I hit my all-time low with women at the school library on a cold January night.  I was unable to study in my office because the Vanessa demons were haunting me.  In frustration, I went to the library to avoid being alone.  Bad idea.  As I sat there, I thought I was losing my mind.  Ugly thoughts towards women dominated every corner of my mind.  Just then a ridiculously pretty blonde walked past.  For a moment, I thought it was Vanessa and panicked.  Then I realized the coed was at most 18 or 19, much too young.  When I realized it wasn't Vanessa, I fixated on the girl and watched where she sat down.  Because the girl was so attractive, at first I thought about approaching her.  Then I decided she would betray me.  The subconscious can be very stupid.  Just because Emily, Carol and Vanessa had betrayed me, my subconscious was convinced all women were out to get me.  Out of nowhere, a flash of anger hit and I fantasized about jabbing my pencil deep into that girl's hand.  I froze in horror.  My subconscious had transferred my intense bitterness towards Vanessa onto this innocent lookalike.  The strength of my darkness really scared me.

Deeply shaken by my unacceptable thought, I picked up my books and raced back to my office for sanctuary.  By chance, Jason was burning the midnight oil.  Jason was a third-year graduate student.  He was a brilliant guy who took a shine to me.  Jason knew the whole story about Vanessa.  He had seen how upset I was back in early December when she left Colorado for Oregon.  One week later Jason tried to cheer me up regarding my failing grade in Fujimoto's Interviewing class.  At the moment, I felt like I had nowhere else to turn.  Realizing how out of control I was, I knocked on Jason's door.  After inviting me into his office, one look was all he needed.  Seeing I needed a friend in the worst way, Jason took me under his wing.  He asked me to sit down and tell him what was wrong.

"Jesus Christ, Jason, I must be losing it.  I swear I wanted to jam a pencil tip through the hand of a girl I never met in my life just because she reminded me of Vanessa.  What the hell is wrong with me??"

After confessing how guilty I felt over wanting to hurt that young lady, I broke down in tears.  I was so miserable over Vanessa I wept like a baby.  Bless his heart, Jason sat there quietly through the entire crying spree.  When I finally calmed down, Jason spoke.

"You have suffered a terrible wound.  Anger is a powerful energy that seeks to protect you from enemies.  However, once it is triggered, anger demands to be expressed.  If anger remains unreleased on its intended target, the anger will go someplace else.  Unexpressed anger often turns inward and creates depression.  It can also turn into evil aimed at innocent victims.  You have heard the tale of the boss who chews out the employee who chews out the wife who chews out the kid who kicks the dog who bites the cat.  The angrier you become, the greater your capacity for evil.  I suspect you carry a considerable dark side.  Fortunately you already see this.  Once an individual recognizes the presence of an evil side, impulse control becomes easier because you stay on guard.  The best solution is to heal your soul."

"What do you suggest, Jason?"

"Right now women are the enemy.  You have to find a way to forgive them.  I suggest making friends with women instead of hating them.  Since you and Dr. Hilton are concentrating on your problems with Fujimoto, why don't you and I tackle your problems with women?  Please understand I cannot be your therapist.  That would cross all sorts of lines.  However, I can become your Dating Coach, a Dear Abby of sorts.  I have some ideas I would like try out.  What do you think about that?"

 I nodded my assent.  And with that, the Dating Project was born.  "So where do we start, Jason?"

"What is your biggest hang-up with women?"

"What scars?"

"C'mon, don't kid me about this.  I am acutely sensitive about my acne scars."

Jason's immediate reaction was to say he had never noticed the scars before.  However, he took a closer look and nodded.  "Okay, I see what you are talking about, but I would have never noticed if you had not point them out.  Do you realize you see something that other people don't?"

When I said I was not sure what he meant, Jason said he had an article for me to read and then we would discuss it further. 

January 1974, Colorado state, age 24

my thin skin

In the second week of January, I met Dr. Hilton for the first time.  He had been strongly recommended by Jason.  Dr. Hilton was a handsome man, a tall, white-haired ringer for Gregory Peck.  After introductions, he asked questions about my background.  Once I finished, he got straight to business.  "Let's start by telling me your impression of Dr. Fujimoto."

"I am sorry to say this, but I felt like Dr. Fujimoto was out to get me.  I perceived much of Dr. Fujimoto's criticism as deliberate put-downs.  I felt he treated me more like the enemy than as someone worthy of his training.  I left every class feeling discouraged.  I guess what bothers me is I don't understand what he was trying to accomplish with his negative approach."

"Perhaps I can cast some light on that.  I know Dr. Fujimoto well.  He comes from a different world than you do.  In the Japanese culture, the student listens and says little.  The student shows respect to the teacher at all times and never questions the teacher's authority.  Dr. Fujimoto has very high standards.  He expects a certain level of maturity and self-control in a graduate student.  In his position as head of the program, he insists it is not his job to develop a student's character.  In a professional setting, he expects his students will have the maturity to handle his criticism ahead of time.  Dr. Fujimoto is not the kind of man to hold hands.  He has little tolerance for back talk nor does he have the patience to deliver criticism wrapped in a sugar-coated pill. 

He expects any student who comes into this program will be prepared to withstand attacks on his character.  I daresay Dr. Fujimoto was deliberately testing you to see how you would respond.  In a sense, Dr. Fujimoto feels he has limited resources and precious little time.  As cold as this sounds, he feels it is necessary to weed out marginal performers."

I was stunned.  Dr. Hilton had just revealed Fujimoto's mind-set in a way that even a thick-headed clod like me could understand.  'Marginal performer' was code for 'waste of time'.  By getting rid of me, Fujimoto was cutting his losses.  There it was in a nutshell.  I stared back at Dr. Hilton feeling very hurt.  Why had Dr. Hilton been so blunt?  I suppose he was preparing me for the inevitable.  Everything Dr. Hilton said made sense, but it still hurt deeply to hear I was considered the weakest member of my group.  The irony, of course, was the humiliating fact that I once considered myself the top candidate in the group of nine incoming students.

I did not know what to say in response.  What was there to say?  The words 'Marginal performer' said it all.  I shook my head in disgust.  How could I possibly be more pathetic?  When I first showed up here, I thought I was the sharpest knife in the drawer.  Now look at me.  I had been reduced to a bumbling, stumbling, mumbling expendable mud puddle of pathos, a veritable black hole of misery.   Now that Dr. Hilton had revealed Fujimoto's opinion concerning my mediocrity, any hope of remaining in the program was reduced to zero.  I sat there quietly feeling sorry for myself.  Seeing that words escaped me, Dr. Hilton resumed. 

"Rick, as difficult as this might be to accept right now, you have been given a great opportunity to work on your issues.  Now that you have told me your background, I can see why you are fragile in so many ways.  Let's see what we can do to toughen you up a little.  During our brief time together, I have observed that you have a keen mind and a willingness to learn from your mistakes.  That puts you way ahead of the game compared to most of my clients.  Your story about the problems you had as a summer camp counselor was especially illuminating because it gave me an insight into the damaged social skills that doomed you here in this program.  This is your chance to develop new and more effective interpersonal skills."

"I appreciate that, Dr. Hilton.  I just wish someone around here would learn the value of praise and encouragement."

"I know you are disappointed.  As far as criticism goes, certainly we all prefer praise, but there is never growth when all you hear is praise.  At some point in your life, you will have to learn how to hear critical things said about you without overreacting.  Let's say you try to write a book and you say the same thing over and over again.  Do you want someone to tell you how wonderful the book is or do you want someone to point out the repetition?" 

"How about both?  I want both.  I thrive on encouragement.  I do better when people believe in me and tell me I am headed in the right direction.  However, I see your point.  Of course I would like constructive suggestions.  But that isn't Dr. Fujimoto's style.  All he does is show me what I do wrong and kick me around in the process."

"I will take your word for it, but I have a question.  Have you learned anything?"

"Oh my God, yes.  I learned more about myself in Dr. Fujimoto's three month class than I learned in the past twenty years."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I suppose if I could ever get some of my confidence back, I would be grateful for what I have learned.  But all Dr. Fujimoto did was expose my flaws.  He did nothing to suggest a correction.  I am running out of time and I don't know how to climb my way out of this hole I am in."

"The first step is to realize your shortcomings.  That is the stage you are at.  Don't worry, the pain will pass.  Then you will be in a position to choose new behaviors."

"Dr. Hilton, no one likes to be told they don't have what it takes.  I still believe I have as much talent as anyone in my class.  So what if I am guilty of talking too much?  What kind of a crime is that?  Dr. Fujimoto acts like I don't have the ability to adjust.  Furthermore, I think Dr. Fujimoto is unnecessarily cruel.  I am fairly certain with a little effort he could find a way to explain what he wants from me in a diplomatic way.  Instead he comes across as hostile.  No wonder I was on guard all the time.  He brings out the worst in me." 

"Rick, I will grant you that Dr. Fujimoto is not the most patient man.  However, as you go through life, you will meet other men like him.  Many successful men don't have the time or inclination to sugarcoat their message.  They give you an order and expect you to carry it out without a hint of attitude.  Maturity demands that you develop the ability to hear the negativity and keep your emotions under control."

At this point, the memory of Murphy's Curse popped into my thoughts.  If Murphy could see me now, no doubt he would have a good laugh at my expense.  I could just see him gloating and saying "I told you so!"  Murphy had not known how to reach me.  Nor did Fujimoto.  But Dr. Hilton was different.  He had a way of getting me to let down my drawbridge and listen to his suggestions. 

"Okay, Dr. Hilton, I hear what you are saying, but I have never met a man like Dr. Fujimoto with the uncanny ability to locate my sore spots.  I do not have an answer for his put-downs.  There is a part of me that thinks Dr. Fujimoto is the most cunning bully I have ever met.  He is way out of my league.  I just wish I wasn't so damned crippled all the time.  I swear I must have the thinnest skin on earth.  I suppose if I could learn to shut up and simply listen to what he says with no answer, I might come closer to being the person he is looking for.  But that won't be easy because everything he says cuts like a knife and I want to lash back.  Maybe if it didn't hurt so much, I could have seen that he was trying to help.  But deep down I don't believe for a moment he was trying to help.  In my opinion, Fujimoto could learn some lessons of his own.  There has to be a place in education for encouragement."

"I certainly agree with you on the value of encouragement.  However, you will find in life there are people who prefer the critical approach.  Dr. Fujimoto is one of them.  He has a drill sergeant mentality and this program is boot camp.  He wants you to do it his way and he doesn't tolerate weakness."

"I get that.  And I also get that I am soft.  My high school teachers were high on nurturing and I suppose they spoiled me.   However, I had a few no-nonsense instructors as well.  But you know what?  Even with the tough ones, I could tell they were on my side.  And a good drill sergeant is the same way.  Tough love is the ability to demand discipline, but show respect.  Fujimoto doesn't come close."

"Rick, you make a good point.  However, it is also my observation you will meet other tough-minded individuals as you move through life.  As it stands, you don't have a clue how to deal with them.  I am speaking specifically about your sensitivity to criticism.  How would you react if his criticism did not sting so much?"

"That's a good question, sir.  If it didn't hurt so much, then I might appreciate what Dr. Fujimoto says.  He definitely knows where my weak spots are, I'll grant him that.  Now that I think about it, Dr. Fujimoto opened my eyes about a lot of things.  I had no idea I had so many rough edges until I met him.  It sounds ridiculous, but in a certain way, my worst enemy is also my best teacher.  As much as I dislike Dr. Fujimoto, I admit he taught me more about myself in these last few months than I ever imagined."

"Good for you, Rick.  That is a powerful insight.  So what lessons will you take from Dr. Fujimoto?"

"He identified my thin skin and my defensiveness.  Those are my main weaknesses.  From now on, when I am criticized by someone, I need to develop more self-control and learn not to react verbally every time I feel offended."

"Correct.  Some people have the ability to get chewed out and not necessarily take it personally.  First you have to learn when to pick your fights.  There is no point in fighting back if you have no chance of winning.  Even if it is an insult, by looking at the comment objectively, you can sidestep the pain that ordinarily comes with destructive criticism.  Consider the source.  Let's say a vicious attorney is cross-examining you and calling you a liar.  A defensive person will feel victimized and hurt by the cruelty of the words.  But a tiger is vicious too.  No one expects a tiger to show mercy.  So it boils down to expectations.  If you are dealing with a harsh person such as a rude police officer or a vicious attorney, remember a tiger is a tiger.  Don't argue with a tiger.  Instead find a way to protect yourself.  Please understand this is a rare skill.  Very few people possess it.  But if you practice thinking about a negative remark before reacting, you will begin to handle people like Dr. Fujimoto more tactfully."

At this point, we called it a day.  My therapy session with Dr. Hilton left me drained.  It was painful to dredge up the same shortcomings again and again and again.  However, today had been valuable.  Dr. Hilton helped me gain an unexpected insight.  I was beginning to accept that Dr. Fujimoto had done more to raise my self-awareness than I ever dreamed possible.  I had a hard time accepting Fujimoto as my benefactor, but I could not deny the man had done me a strange favor.  If life is for learning, then Fujimoto had given me plenty to think about.  On the other hand, without Dr. Hilton as my coach, who knows if I would have ever seen the healthier approach.  Dr. Hilton was a true blessing. 

JANUARY 1974, Colorado state

negative self-image

Shortly after my visit with Dr. Hilton, I found Jason had put an article on my desk.  The article was titled 'Negative Self-Image'.  It discussed certain ultra-slim models who looked in the mirror and saw themselves as fat. 

At first I laughed at how silly this sounded, especially when I looked at their actual photographs and saw how attractive these women were.  How was it possible for women as beautiful as these young ladies to hate their appearance?  Since this made absolutely no sense, I decided someone had to be making this story up.  Then I caught on.  Jason was pointing out that I suffered from the exact same problem with my facial scars. 

Several professional models were interviewed for the article.  The models confessed they were often miserable.  Their insecurities led to eating disorders and profound fear of being overweight.  They were incapable of overcoming their distorted mental picture despite friends who insisted time after time they were not fat.  Despite receiving positive visual representation of themselves, the models said it did no good.  They were so convinced they were fat, nothing seemed to cure their distorted self-image. 

I shook my head in disbelief.  This was absurd.  These were truly beautiful women with perfect figures.  They were so perfect that companies paid them large sums for the right to use their images to sell product.  What more proof did they need?  And yet these women swore they were telling the truth when they doubted their attractiveness. 

The article suggested there are varying degrees of this problem.  Most people learn to live with it.  However, in the most severe cases, victims are incapable to override a skewed self-image without professional help.  One woman explained her problem succinctly. 

"I grew up with a father who told me I was fat.  He was right, I was kind of chubby as a kid.  My mother had let her figure go and now my father took it out on me.  From the moment I could walk, he told me to stop eating so much, that I would become fat like my mother if I wasn't careful.  As I grew older, I slimmed down considerably, but he still criticized me every chance he got.  Even after my father passed away, I could not get his voice out of my head.

My girlfriend Pat and I are both models.  We met on assignment.  One day I told Pat how insecure I was about my weight.  Pat said I was crazy.  However, once she saw that I was serious, Pat was convinced she could cure me.  First she told me to take a good look at her and give her my honest opinion whether she was the right weight or not.  The moment I said she looked fine, I realized I had fallen for her little trap. 

Pat made me do an experiment.  First we weighed ourselves.  Although we have virtually the same height and figure, I was 2 pounds heavier.  Then we went over to Pat's mirror and compared ourselves wearing leotards.  I could see with my own eyes that I was no wider, no fatter, no thicker than she was.  Our figures were so identical we could have been sisters.  Since Pat was thin, by definition I was thin.  The experiment cheered me up for a few days, but then I went back and looked again on my own.  I was repelled by how fat I was.  I could not get those 2 extra pounds out of my mind.  I began to obsess about my extra 2 pounds night and day.

My therapist explained this distorted perception has the ability to dominate my brain image of myself and negatively affect the way I view my body.  There doesn't seem to be any cure.  Every time the camera aims at me, I try my best to smile, but for the life of me, I cannot seem to shake the feeling that I am too fat.  Somewhere inside my head I am convinced my father is still ashamed of me."

I was shocked at how closely the model's story fit my own situation.  She had a distorted view of her attractiveness that made no sense to others.  The same thing could be said for me.  The article concluded that Professional help is the only solution.  However, based on what the article said, just because the woman had come to understand the problem, she had not found a way to lick it.  The article made it clear that once a negative image is ingrained into the subconscious, it may be impossible for the individual to overcome the false perception.  With a sinking heart, I wondered if that was the case for me.  How was I ever going to reverse this Scarface mind set that tormented me?  Was there any cure?

February 1974, Colorado state

TIE ME TO A TREE

The next time I saw Dr. Hilton, I explained Jason's theory that I had a Rejection Phobia related to pretty girls.  Then I explained his view that my Negative Self-Image was responsible.  Satisfied he understood my problem, I asked my question.  "Dr. Hilton, how does someone cure a Phobia?"

Dr. Hilton replied, "The only way to cure a Phobia is to face one's fears directly."

"How many people face their fears?"

"If the problem is as acute as yours, the answer is not many.  Most people find it easier just to avoid the problem and work around it.  If the threatening object is minor like the fear of snakes, there is no need really to cure the problem.  Stay out of the woods and watch where you step.  However, in your case, if you ever intend to marry and have children, you need to solve your problem."

Gee, thanks.  Tell me something I didn't already know.  With a frown, I replied, "Given that most people will do anything to avoid facing their fears, how would you cure them?"

A dark smile crossed his face.  "That, my young friend, is a very tough question.  A Phobia is so severe that extreme measures are called for.  I would tie them to a tree."

I laughed.  "That's a new one.  Is that some sort of sledge hammer technique?"

"No, it is even more extreme than that.  It is a form of torture.  If I had my way, I would confiscate my client's free will and tie them to a tree.  I would do it for their own good whether they liked it or not.  If I could tie my clients to a tree and force them to confront their fears, I think I could cure a lot of people.  To me, Free Will is the curse of Psychology.  Every time a patient leaves my office, the majority ignore my advice and just keep doing things the same way they always do.  Getting someone to change their behaviors through persuasion can be very frustrating.  It would so much easier if I could tie them to a tree."

Dr. Hilton paused.  Seeing him frown, I could tell I had hit a nerve.

"Rick, tell me something.  How much luck has Jason had helping you with women?"

"Poor Jason, he hasn't gotten very far with me.  My failure to respond to his Dating Project has him doubting his own ability."

"What is the problem?"

"I cheat.  Let's say there are deadly snakes and grass snakes.  Same thing for women.  The only women I approach are the grass snakes.  This allows me to tell Jason I am doing what he wants while avoiding the ones who scare me.  It is so much easier for me just to avoid women for a while and feel sorry for myself instead.  Jason gets blue in the face trying to persuade me to try again."

Dr. Hilton nodded.  I had just confirmed his theory.

"That is exactly my point.  Therapy can be a very frustrating profession.  Progress is slow because it is too easy to avoid one's fears.  It is a wonder anyone ever makes any improvement.  Free Will is to blame for that.  Free Will is the main reason no one ever gets any better.  Since I cannot force a patient to take a risk for their own good, like Jason, I am forced to sit here and try to persuade my clients to be brave.  Unfortunately, persuasion is a very weak tool.  When confronted by a fear that can be avoided without much effort, it is human nature to take the easy way out.  Sometimes I feel like I am spinning my wheels."

"What about me?  What would you do different than Jason to cure my problems with women?"

Dr. Hilton gave me a wicked laugh.  "You don't want to know."

Stupid me, of course I took the bait.  Curiosity kills the cat, right?  "Go ahead, tell me."

"Professional ethics call for me to patiently address your problems over time and allow you to make up your own mind.  This approach takes forever.  However, if you wanted to be cured fast and gave me permission, I would tie you to a tree and send taunting women across your path for hours on end.  I would tell them to scream 'Scarface' and 'Pimple Face', then have them laugh and point at your scars in a scornful, bitchy way.  I would tell them to throw some dirt, maybe even spit on you, then call you 'Creepy Loser Kid' for good measure.  I would make sure that only the best looking women participate and make them promise to treat you with extreme cruelty and contempt."

"Oh my God, I would die if you did that to me!"

"No, actually, you wouldn't.  You would be in extreme psychological pain for a while, but you would eventually de-sensitize yourself to the insults and get over it.  No doubt you would scream bloody murder for a while, but sooner or later you would see that pretty girls who laugh at you and reject you are not worth so much morbid preoccupation."

"You are talking about subjecting me to ridicule on my most painful issues."

"Yes, that's true.  And eventually you would grow a thick skin.  Think about Jackie Robinson, the first black baseball player.  In his first year in the major leagues, he was subjected to every racial taunt and insult known to man.  Robinson seethed inside, but never once did he lose his temper in public.  He knew that any mistake he made would be magnified because every bigot in the country was rooting for him to fail.  To be treated with such cruelty and never lash out is amazing.  I consider his courage heroic.  Like Jackie Robinson, you would toughen up and become stronger for surviving the insults.  The moment you squared your shoulders and stood tall in face of those insults from pretty girls, I would consider cutting you loose from your tree."

I stared at Dr. Hilton in silence for a moment.

"Maybe you should tie me to a tree.  Oak or pine?"

"Quaking aspen.  Should I begin lining up some girls to make fun of you?  Is that Vanessa woman still available?"

How could I not love this guy?  His sarcasm was something to behold.  I smiled a little and took a long, deep breath.  It hurt to breathe so deeply after all the pain and tension, but it did help me calm down.  I did not know if I could ever face my fears with women.  If I quit now, who knows when I would ever try again.  The way I felt, maybe never.  But Dr. Hilton was right about Jackie Robinson.  If he could handle the abuse, then maybe I could too.  I should face my fears and lick this Phobia.  The hard part was making myself do it.

late February 1974, Colorado state

Christine

After several stumbles, in late February I got lucky.  I noticed a very pretty young lady standing alone in the Psychology Department hallway.  I assumed she was waiting class to start.  Considering she looked 18 and I was 24, the age difference made her seem less dangerous.  I noticed she was leafing through her 'Introduction to Psychology' textbook.  Seeing her preoccupied, on a whim, I walked over and asked what she thought about her Intro Psychology course.  

"How did you know I am taking that class?  Are you in my class?"

After I pointed to her textbook, Christine laughed.  "Well, duh, I guess that kind of gave it away.  Aren't you clever?  Okay, Mr. Mentalist, what's my name?"

"Christine Eggleston."

Christine's jaw dropped.  Laughing, I pointed to her notebook with her full name in the upper right corner.  Christine laughed too.  That broke the ice.  To my surprise, I suddenly found myself talking with confidence.  In short order I learned Christine loved the class, wanted to be a Psychology major, grew up in Denver, liked to ski and was a Freshman.  About that time, Christine asked who I was.  Noting Christine was very impressed to meet a graduate student, I asked her out.  To my delight, she accepted.  With a nod to Jason's 'try, try again attitude', just like that I had a date with Christine.  I was troubled over being six years older, but she was very confident, probably more than me.  As my heart went pitter patter, I prayed the Curse of Vanessa was over.

Following my first date with Christine, I walked into Jason's office to make my report.

Jason wasted no time.  "So how did your date go??"

"Things went splendidly.  Pizza, beer, excellent conversation.  Maybe a little too much beer.  Christine was drunk.  On the way back to her dorm, Christine initiated a snowball fight.  The next thing I know, we were rolling in the snow and kissing like crazy.  When we got back to the dorm, Christine invited me into her room.  Moments later we were kissing again, this time on her bed.  To my amazement, Christine began taking off her clothes."

"My, my, aren't you the Casanova."

"Not really.  Taking off her clothes was her idea.  All I did was cooperate."

"So why are you frowning??"

I gave a bitter laugh.  "When Christine got down to bra and panties, she began to hesitate.  Christine took an uncertain look towards me and suggested we were moving too fast.  She asked if I would mind waiting till next time."

"Are you serious?"

"Completely serious.  That's what happened, Jason.  Christine got cold feet and hit the brake pedal."

Jason shook his head in wonder.  "What did you do wrong?"

"I'm not sure I did anything wrong.  Considering I was six years older, I already had mixed feelings about robbing the cradle.  Maybe that is what she picked up on.  To be honest, I understood her fear about rushing into things, so I told her I did not mind waiting.  There's always a next time.  We have a date for Tuesday night."

Jason nodded.  "Let me know how it turns out."

My Tuesday night date with Christine stayed on the platonic side.  Christine asked if we could make it a short night.  After dinner in the campus cafeteria, I brought Christine over to the Psychology building on our walk back to the dorm.  I just happened to see a fellow grad student named Carlos walk by and made sure to introduce Christine.  I showed Christine my office, then we left.  The evening ended with a sweet kiss and plans for the upcoming Friday night. 

late February 1974, Colorado state

scarface

Fast-forward to Saturday morning.  Jason stopped me in the hallway.

"Hey, Rick, what's with the giant bandage over your eye?  Did your new girlfriend slug you?" 

"I fell hard last night while I was ice skating and needed ten stitches."

"Oh, that's terrible.  Ten stitches?  I thought you told me you don't know how to ice skate."

"I don't.  But I was in such a bad mood, I decided to try anyway."

"Why were you in a bad mood?"

"Because Christine stood me up for our date last night."

Jason frowned.  "Maybe we should talk about this."

I frowned too.  "Yeah, maybe we should."

After we headed to Jason's office, he closed the door and pointed to a seat.   "Did you know you have a black eye?"

"Yes, of course I do.  And right now my head is throbbing from the injury."

"Okay, Rick, what's the story?"

"When I got to Christine's dorm last night, I found a note pinned to her door with my name on it.  The note said a couple girls from the dorm had asked her to go drinking with them and she decided to join them."

"You can't be serious.  That is all the note said?  No apology?  No see you later, alligator, please call me?"

"That's all the note said.  It was just like the old Rodney Dangerfield joke."

"What joke is that?"

"The other day my girlfriend called and told me to hurry, there's no one home.  I rushed to her house and sure enough, she was right.  When I got there, there was no one home."

Jason tried not to grin, but couldn't help it.  "If you didn't have bad luck, you wouldn't have any luck at all."

"Oh, Jason, what am I going to do?  I was incensed.  I wanted to strangle the girl.  Christine had humiliated me in about the meanest way possible.  Shades of Vanessa, this was the same crap all over again.  Full of rage, my first impulse was to visit a few bars and track her down.  But that was a really bad idea, so I headed back to the office instead.  The problem was, I didn't really want to go back to office.  I would feel sorry myself and end up even more depressed than I already was.  What was I supposed to do?  It was the dead of winter, it was bitterly cold, and my hatred towards women was off the charts.  It was too late to play basketball and my fear of being alone warned me not to go home till I cooled off.  Knowing I had to find some way to settle down, about that time I passed the outdoor ice rink.  Afraid of another long night of brooding and feeling sorry for myself, I decided to try ice skating for the first time."

"And so you fell and hurt yourself."

"Well, yes, but not exactly.  Actually I surprised myself.  I discovered I could skate just fine.  However I could not figure out how to stop.  My solution was to skate from one side to the other, then catch myself with my hands against the stone wall.  Since I was the only skater on the ice, this worked well enough.  Twenty minutes passed and I was actually getting the hang of it.  That is when another skater showed up.  He was obviously an expert because he started doing speed laps.  Don't ask me why, but for no reason the asshole skated right across my path.  Since he thought he owned the place, I guess he expected me to stop and give him the right of way.  But I didn't know how to stop!  I went up on my tiptoes to avoid the collision, but then I stumbled badly and fell face forward.  I broke my fall with my hands, but my forehead went smack against the ice.  It hurt like hell and I screamed.  Both the manager and the jerk saw it happen.  When the jerk saw the look of anger on the manager's face, he took off.  Didn't even bother to apologize.  Seeing blood dripping on the ice, I picked myself up and staggered over to the student clinic.  Want to know the irony?"

Jason was sympathetic, but he was also having hard time hiding a grin at my plight.  "Sure, give it to me."

"It was so late, there was no doctor, so they had to call someone in.  It was just as well because it gave me time to cool off.  So this stunning woman walks in.  She wasn't all that much older than me.  Wow!  What a babe!  Turns out she's the doctor.  She was so young, this had to be her first job out of medical school.  Well, seeing this young lady blew my mind.  I had expected to get some grouchy old guy who would chew me out for making him get out of bed.  Not this woman.  She was full of cheer and sympathy.  I apologized for inconveniencing her, but she said she didn't mind at all.  "Oh, don't worry about it, I was just reading a book."  Her name tag said Elizabeth.  She was such a sweetheart.  What I wouldn't give to have a woman like that."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Elizabeth was awesome.  She said, "Oh, you poor dear.  What a terrible thing to happen!  Gosh, I bet that hurt.  You know, I hate to tell you this, but the stitches might leave a small scar on your forehead.'"

Jason laughed out loud.  "No way!  She did not say that!"

I laughed too in spite of myself.  "Oh yes, she did!  I almost replied, "Gosh, don't worry, ma'am, I'll just add it to my collection!  By the way, would you consider marrying me?'"

Jason shook his head in wonderment.  "Was she married?  Did you say anything?"

"I didn't see a ring, but I am sure someone has a claim on her.  Trust me, Jason, this woman was more than slightly out of my league.  Besides, after the stunt Christine pulled, I was in no mood to take another risk of rejection."

"Ah, Christine, yes.  What do you suppose made Christine do something like that?"

"I'm not sure, but I have my theories.  Theory number one was last week she was drunk, this week she was sober.  But I have a better theory.  There's something I haven't told you."

"Uh oh, now what?"

"I didn't tell you about our second date last Tuesday.  I did something really stupid.  After another pizza and beer dinner, I invited Christine to come with me to the office so I could pick something up.  To be honest, that was just a ploy.  I forgot to pick something up to justify our side trip.  What I was really doing was hoping to show off Christine to some of the other grad students.  I have a terrible hunch that Christine caught on."

"Oh, Rick, why would you do a dumb thing like that?"

"Because I am pathetic, that's why.  Christine is a very pretty girl, almost as pretty as Vanessa.  Now that I had found my replacement for Vanessa, my ego demanded I show her off.  I paraded her around the department like a gold medal."

"Were you obvious about it?  Did she know what you were doing?"

"I don't know, but what other explanation could there be?  Maybe it's my face.  Maybe in the office light, Christine got a good look at the scars and didn't like what she saw.  Whatever the reason, she didn't want to see me last night.  Jason, I can't do this anymore.  The thought of getting burned again is just too much to bear right now.  I took another long look at my face in the mirror this morning.  I felt so repulsive, I just wanted to vomit."

Without thinking, I had the sudden urge to rip the skin off my face.  I briefly dug my fingernails into my cheeks, then caught myself. 

Jason was alarmed.  "Rick, will you please stop it with this scarface nonsense?  I don't want to hear that kind of talk.  You are not ugly and you are not helpless.  You can overcome this irrational fear of being ugly.  You're smart enough to know better."

"That's what you say.  Right now I am terrified of women.  I can't take any more rejection."

Jason paused to look at his watch.  "Listen, I understand how you feel, but right now I have someplace I need to be.  Can we talk about this some more later?"

"Of course.  Incidentally, thanks for listening.  Without you, I think I would just go looking for some cliff."

MARCH 1974, Colorado state,

THE NIFTY FIFTY

The next time I saw Jason, he began by saying when a cowboy falls off a horse, the best thing he can do is get right back in the saddle.  In other words, shake off Christine and try again.  Jason said the only way I could cure my fear of women was talk to them. 

"Rick, you cannot wallow in self-pity for the rest of your life.  You can't just quit every time something goes wrong with a girl.  Look around you.  There are scores of undergraduate girls who walk through these halls on a daily basis here in the Psych Department.  Find a reason to talk to some of them, see if you can make a connection.  Just talk!"

I nodded.  Jason was right.  The Psychology Department was a hotbed of activity.  A random glance at the bulletin board revealed a slew of evening and weekend seminars.  On any given night, I could choose from women's issues, drug dependency, alienation, protecting the environment, the plight of the American Indian, and so on.  On the weekend there were all-day workshops on self-esteem, relationships, communication and so on. 

Step One called for me to attend some of these events.  Step Two called for me to approach any woman who attracted me during the breaks, introduce myself and ask for their opinion.  Considering the Psychology Department was overrun with scores of intelligent, attractive women, I met dating candidates on a regular basis.  Lot of good it did me.  I was the fisherman who couldn't fish, the hunter who couldn't hunt.  Jason was perplexed.  He could tell I was not responding well to his Dating Project.

I did not have the heart to tell him the truth.  I did as he asked, but after Christine I made sure to avoid any woman I was actually attracted to.  There were no more incidents for the simple reason that I shied away from the Alpha girls.  However I struck out anyway even though I had stepped down in weight class.  I knew I was doing something wrong, but for some weird reason could never quite figure out what it was.  It was like I had some sort of Blind Spot that kept tripping me up.  I assumed it had something to do with my lack of confidence.  After each small defeat, I would go to Jason and complain.  Jason would roll his eyes and tell me to try again. 

One day Jason asked about my diary.  "Do you still write about each girl you speak to like I asked?" he asked. 

"Yes, I do.  Sometimes I add what we spoke about, other times I just add their name."

"How many have you spoken to?"

I shrugged.  "I haven't counted, but twenty, thirty."

Jason let out a low whistle.  "What is your conclusion?  Why aren't you clicking with any of them?"

"I wish you hadn't asked that question.  I constantly expect to be rejected.  One look at my face in the light is enough to turn any woman off."

"Have any of the women been mean to you?"

"No.  I am always polite, so they respond in kind.  They're just not interested.  That is because I'm not very good at finding things to talk about with women I have never met before.  Most of all, I don't have a whole lot of confidence.  I'm sure they see the fear written all over my face.  Or maybe they can sense it, like a sixth sense.  Another hang-up is that everything is pointless.  Why am I going to all this trouble when I am certain to be kicked out of the program in a few months?  Why start something I can't finish?"

"Those are all valid points, Rick, but you don't need to find the love of your life.  Temporary friendships have value in their own right.  You need to learn how to approach women and develop conversational skills.  Sooner or later you might surprise yourself and find someone you click with."

"Okay, Jason, I will stay with it."

And so I resumed my quest to find women willing to speak to me.  In the space of two and a half months my notebook contained the names of nearly 50 women I had spoken to on a casual basis.  Christine, Sarah, Vernie, Lois, Terry, Doris, Elaine, Midge.  Naomi, Hannah, Jane, Janie, Joan, Carmel.  Claudia, Leslie, Pixie, Sue, Julie, Barbara.  Peggy, Anne, Lynn, Elizabeth, Morgan, Rebecca, Sonny, Laney, Cindy, Val, Karen, Helene.  Mary, Brenda, Sharon.  Maggie, Meredith, Priscilla.  Ruth, Nancy, Cathy, Debbie.  42.   2 Lindas, 2 Susans, and 2 Carols pushed the number to 48.  Since there were a couple encounters where I never got a name, let's round it off at 50.  I dated a couple of them, but nothing panned out.  It was beyond pathetic how many women I struck out with.  Frustrated, I wanted to quit this nonsense. 

"This is going nowhere, Jason.  By the laws of statistical probability, I should have clicked with someone.  The Curse of Vanessa poisons everything!" 

"Rick, listen to me.  Thomas Edison said that many of life's failures were men who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.  Don't be a quitter.  The most certain way to succeed is to always to try one more time."

"Jason, I have spent the last three months doing exactly what you told me to do.  I spend every spare moment talking to women around the Department without getting anywhere.  They are all very civil and we have nice little chats, but there is no spark.  50 women, Jason!  I feel like I have embarked on some sort of Epic Losing Streak." 

(Author's Note: Yes, this conversation was the birth of my pet phrase.)

Jason shook his head in disagreement. 

"Edison was the prince of positive thinking.  He was able to eliminate 10,000 ways that did not work in his perpetual search for the perfect light bulb.  In his mind, not one of these disappointments was a failure.  He assumed he was going to find something that worked eventually, so cross one off the list and try the next idea."

"Jason, what would happen if every one of those light bulbs told Edison what a loser he was?  Damn it, I have just hit the 50 mark.  At the rate I was going, 10,000 might not be out of the question.  These women are bored out of their minds and I have no idea what I am doing wrong."

"I see your point, but I am still convinced that practice makes perfect.  If you speak to enough women, I am certain you will find your rhythm.  The important thing was to keep trying."

I shook my head in disgust.  "I feel like a baseball player who is in the worst slump of his life.  I can't get a hit to save my soul.  What am I doing wrong??"

"My best guess is the concept of self-fulfilling prophecy.  You expect to get rejected, so you do things you are not even aware of.  You are probably right about a woman's sixth sense.  Women detect your lack of enthusiasm.  You talk to them, but you don't really mean it.  You don't have any skin in the game."

"Maybe I am not attractive." 

"Nonsense.  Those scars are a convenient excuse.  Your problem is magnified by ten years of failure.  Your ten years of failure have become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  You expect to be rejected, so you do things and say things that reveal your lack of confidence.  The women pick up on that and get the message.  Since you act like a loser, why should they bother?"

Talk about blunt!  I swallowed hard.  Seeing I was unable to speak, Jason continued.

"If a person grows up with the idea of being inferior, he very well might carry that idea for the rest of his life.  It becomes a limit to his development.  Due to your belief that whatever you do will not get a different result, you eventually give up trying.  It is a brutal prison that short-circuits of any possibility of making an effort that might produce a better outcome."

"So I fail because I expect to fail."

"Exactly.  Or in your case, you fail because you are no longer brave enough to risk anything more than a tepid effort.  You are trying, but you are not trying with conviction.  Listen, Rick, I don't know what went wrong with Christine.  Nor do I know what went wrong with Vanessa.  But I can see it hasn't done you any good for me to insist that you are a lot more attractive than you realize.  I have decided your problem is too deeply imbedded for me to talk you out of your negativity.  On the outside, you have a lot going for you.  You are an attractive guy, bright, athletic, knowledgeable.  On the surface, you matched up well with Vanessa.  That's why she tracked you down in the first place.  But inside you are crippled.  At the first sign of pressure, you fold.  What you should have done was put your foot down with Vanessa when she started her shenanigans.  Had you done so, I imagine the outcome would have been much different.  But instead you caved in and gave up.  No wonder she left you.  Your condition reminds me of the story of the baby elephant who was trained to be a weakling.  Have you ever heard that tale?"

"No. Tell me."

"Circus elephants are frequently held in place by a solitary stake.  Everyone knows a grown elephant is so powerful that no mere stake can hold him.  But the elephant does not even try to test the stake.  Why is that?  Because a stake can hold a baby elephant.  So every circus makes sure to train their baby elephants that it is futile to try by using strong stakes.  By the time the elephant grows older and stronger, he is conditioned by past failure to believe no escape is possible.  So he no longer tries."

I nodded.  "I see your point, Jason.  That is the perfect description for me.  If I could just conquer these demons in my mind, I am an attractive guy.  However I am so defeated by past failure, I am no longer brave enough to force myself to try again. But how do I overcome that kind of attitude?"