I live with it every day with my female flatmate. At a time when I was just getting over the end of a three year relationship, dealing with two dramatic rebound relationships and a recent loss of employment, she created an alternate email account, a fictional persona tailored to my interests, and began emailing me.
I wasn't looking for a relationship. Women were dangerous. But hey, a shag is always a possibility when you're single so I agreed to meet this mystery woman.
The day before, my flatmate revealed her little prank. I was not impressed. It caused a row. A big one.
You see, once upon a time, she'd confused her sympathy for me with thinking she was in love with me. Made things awkward. I'm honestly not sure why we remain flatmates.
I still haven't forgiven her and when we argue, I give her some good guilt trips over it. Rather catty of me I admit but that's what comes from living with a woman.
Paybacks are indeed a bitch.
Now, for a Christmas cliché: With my lack of family and a close circle of friends, Christmas can be a trying time. It gets rather lonely spending that time of year by yourself.
This past year was more trying than previous years and my "salvation" came from an unexpected source, a woman I worked with who was ten years younger and also my boss.
Between the season and a recent, deeply personal loss, I wasn't in a festive mood. Being a woman, having a certain empathy, she sensed that and we seemed to form a friendship. She offered me comfort and sought some for herself. But there seemed to be something under the surface.
To test this, when I distanced myself from her, she sought me out or called me into her office. In the opinions of those who knew the situation, and as my own intuition was telling me, there was an underlying romantic tension.
I was flattered. She was attractive. She was also, to me, young. Too young. I can't look at women under a certain age as even a sexual conquest let alone a serious relationship.
It made things uncomfortable but I had no idea how bad it would get until I finally addressed the issue with her. I said that what feelings I may have for her were platonic, brotherly at best, and that my romantic feelings, as she well knew, were for another woman.
I now found myself being lied to and worse still, lied about. An incredible example: One day I walked into her office and found her in tears. She said someone in the head office had chewed her out over something. On my lunch break, knowing her favourite colour was pink, I bought her a pink rose to cheer her up. It seemed the gentlemanly, friendly thing to do. And it did make her happy.
After everything came to a head, that pink rose in her mind became a symbol of undying love. Pink. Not red. Pink. Call a florist to the stand. Any florist. Ask them to explain the meanings associated with the colours.
The office manager and sole HR employee were utterly useless and I left that job. I actually initiated a complaint with the Human Rights Commission but dropped it. The girl had no business being in
management but there's that Messiah Complex for you. Turn the other cheek. The meek shall inherit a swift kick in the arse.
I'm an atheist but I do believe in the historical personage of Christ and the principles he stood for. As the saying goes; "Christ was a good teacher. It's too bad people didn't listen to him."
When I was younger, a friend used the "Messiah Complex" to explain why I seemed to be a magnet for neurotic women. He felt I had an innate need to save them. When I was a young Casanova that may have been true.
Now, it's all about forgiving them. The moral highground is mine. I must be seeking absolution for some crazy karmic sin I feel guilty of.
Seriously, what is with this urge to be an altruistic saint I experience from time to time? I should be right bloody livid about some things. "Vengeance is mine..." "An eye for an eye..." and all that. It's probably something else cliché like blaming myself for my parents divorce. That's gotta be it.