Keep Playing Games And You’ll End Up Alone

Katie Tegtmeyer

Games are totally fun to play—that is, if you’re on top. But the excitement of it is short-lasted, the pleasure brief, and soon morphs into a murky loneliness. Some guys just don’t know when to throw in the towel; for these, the urge to play games triumphs all other urges. There’s also a time and a place. Let’s say you just met a girl at a bar, you text her, and then you wait six hours to respond to her answer—you know, to show her who’s boss. Fine; that’s expected. Still stupid—don’t get me wrong—but expected. But if it’s a girl who you’ve dated seriously, who has met your parents and has seen the inner contours of your anus, then I’m going to have to say no-go on the whole games…yo.

Trust me on this one; it’s you guys I’m looking out for. So if you start trying to pull some bullshit game on a girl who knows your poop schedule, then it’s time you take out the tissues and lotion. Because you’re just fucking yourself. (Note: make no mistake! If you’re playing games with a girl who doesn’t know you that well, you’re still fucking yourself, just perhaps not as hard).

Because this spell you men tend to cast on women always eventually bursts. Women will inevitably learn what it’s like to be treated in a straight-forward manner and with respect, and will soon find your games quite revolting. Cut to: you’re alone, dying.

It’s twisted, but it’s often true. The first time I can remember feeling an insatiable passion for another guy was when my first boyfriend cheated on me. Before this, we were getting along just fine. I loved the comfort of having him around, no doubt more than I actually loved him. But then he cheated on me, and my complacency with him morphed into an insatiable lust and passion that nothing could quell. Yes, I eventually got over him, leaving him to grovel on his own, but lamentably, it has not been as easy to grow out of this immature and misdirected lust.

I hate to generalize, but most men have an intrinsic need for power over the girl they’re with. It’s a desire that runs so deep, that they are often willing to risk a whole buttload of things—the best woman they’ve ever had, say, or their integrity—just to have a semblance of control.

Like Propsero in The Tempest, the driving force behind a need for control and power is almost always born out of insecurity. After Prospero’s brother Antonio usurped his title as Duke of Milan and Prospero found himself alone with Miranda on the island, Prospero dedicated the remainder of his life to exacting revenge. He was pushed down, denounced, and so his reaction to such suppression was to take control of anyone and everyone he encountered for the remainder of his life.

Prospero ensured Ariel’s captivity in a manipulative manner not unlike a kidnapper. After dishing out blow after callous blow, Ariel was pushed so far and so irreparably down that he was left with scarcely any energy to fight back. With Miranda, Prospero’s intended outcome is the same, but his approach is different. Prospero keeps Miranda shrouded from her biological history, her past, and from reality. Prospero is in control of all that Miranda knows, . He withholds information from her in order to manipulate, not unlike how the cave inhabitants were treated in Plato’s Allegory of The Cave. He gets her hopes up, only to leave her hanging or to shatter them completely.

Men typically act on instinct and rarely consider the long-term consequences of their actions. But perhaps if they removed their heads form their asses for one second, they’d recognize that a willingness to hurt others in order to feel in control isn’t the way to any woman’s heart. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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