The hysterical neurotic

". . . in order to maintain his desire, [the hysterical neurotic] tries never to supply a possible fulfilling object for that desire, and in this way the resulting dissatisfaction remobilizes his desire in an aspiration, always more and more remote, toward an ideal of being" (Joel Dor, The Clinical Lacan, pp 80-81).

Nothing is more terrifying to the hysterical neurotic than having her desire fulfilled, so she avoids it at all costs, focusing on impossible ideals as objects of her desire. Nothing is ever good enough for her, least of all herself; she strives to become perfect aesthetically and intellectually, all the while berating herself for her perceived lack of beauty and intelligence. Making any important decision, such as choosing a romantic partner, is a source of endless anxiety for the hysteric; she puts off the decision as long as possible, and when she must finally decide, she is plagued by doubts about whether she chose correctly. Nothing she has is ever good enough; there is always something more, something better, to desire.

My heart was in my throat as I read about the hysterical neurotic. This kind of repetition was continually unfolding in my life, in my relationships: I would fall for someone, become the woman of their dreams, and ultimately dump them for someone else. I found it impossible not to look around for someone else, difficult to say no to the first guy who pursued me. Caught up in the problems and conflicts that always crop up in relationships, the new guy always seemed so much better for me, so much more understanding, more attractive, smarter, etc. I wonder how he is in bed? I wonder what our children would look like? I'd leave guy 1 for guy 2 and the same thing would happen again.

At the time I was studying the neurotic structure, I was engaged, but starting to have my doubts. We had gotten engaged too soon in the relationship, and it wore on us. We argued. I always felt like we were speaking two different languages. The sex was great, and I was naive enough to think that compatibility in bed meant everything. I was sure I had ended my repetition of trying to find someone else. I hadn't.

Half my problem was my constant fear/belief that someone better for me was out there. The other half was thinking I had found this person when I hadn't.

I wrote yesterday about the choice involved in the feminine position-- to become the object a, the complement to the man's fantasy, or to accept one's aloneness and navigate desire in one's own way. For certain I was doing the former. To some extent I'm sure I still am.

I considered myself a relationship chameleon-- I took on a man's interests, his tastes in music, his preferences, his sense of humor, and ultimately tricked many men into thinking I was perfect for them. I didn't really do this consciously; it was easy, natural. I would start dating a man, and all of a sudden I liked everything he liked. I would say things that made him laugh. I would pretend he pleased me in bed. (I know my husband is going to read this and start freaking out.)

My last semester of college, I started realizing that my fiancé of the time was all wrong for me. I painstakingly broke it off, and for once there wasn't a new guy awaiting me. I avoided serious relationships for a while. I had to get to know myself outside of a relationship. In the past I had only known myself by knowing who I was dating.

I went on a few dates. I had to accept that I wasn't going to be perfect for every man. I tried to just be myself. I had to deal with rejection.

By the time I met Anthony, I had figured out how to live without needing constant validation from a man. I felt secure in myself. I was, I think, starting to navigate my own desire. Consequently, I was able to have a real relationship. With Anthony, I could finally be myself. I felt completely accepted by him. I could reveal to him the worst parts of my personality and he still loved me. He encouraged me in finding my own way. He pushed me (still does push me) to find a career that I love, something that'll bring meaning to my life.

Still I fear that I'll end up dissatisfied; that my nature really is that of the hysteric and I'll soon be caught up in the repetition again.