Among my many dubious talents is my breathtaking ability to screw up a relationship.  Few girlfriends/fiances/wives have my innate sense of bad timing, poor taste and raging co-dependency. Seriously. Give me a medal or something.

I have married and divorced twice. The good news is that I got a daughter out of one of the marriages and I handled both my divorces pro se, saving me and my exes thousands and thousands of dollars – although I don’t think they looked at it that way.

It’s not that I don’t like commitment or falling into the toilet because someone left the seat up. I just don’t know how to do relationships.  I could blame my co-dependent mother, alcoholic father, bipolar or alcoholism. Might as well blame the nuns and my camp counselors, too. When I’m done with all the blaming I am left with this undisputed fact: I suck at relationships.

Perhaps my picker is broken or there is some freaky magnetic force emanating from incompatible men. I am especially attracted to alcoholics and addicts. You could do a line-up with a dozen guys and without any of them uttering a word, I can pick out the alcoholic/addict among the bunch. He is the only guy I am attracted to. I have no interest in the others no matter now much money or good looks they have. It’s weird.

I don’t know if it is because “likes” attract: I am an alcoholic and subliminally I want to be around alcohol so I pick an alcoholic. But I have no doubt that alcoholism, sprinkled with a healthy dose of depression, are not attractive characteristics in a woman. Throw in some wrinkles and gray hair and you’ve got a real peach!

I am 52-years-old. I am a recovered alcoholic with hypomania. Today I have my illnesses under control but my prescription bottles are on the counter and I still take three medications everyday. Having just come out of yet another failed relationship I am about ready to throw in the towel.

I know I have a lot going for me: career, lovely daughter, beautiful home, investments, a low BMI and a great dog. Still, I cannot help but thinking that I am damaged goods. I have only a daily reprieve from my alcoholism. I must tend to my recovery everyday. Relapse is always a very real possibility. Same with my hypomania. The medications could stop working. I could blast off at any time.

I know as long as I believe I am damaged goods I will throw off that vibe. So, I dress nicer for work, put on some makeup and give myself affirmations. But the word “spinster” keeps popping up among those thoughts that I work so hard to stop racing. “Weird Aunt Chris.” “You know, that lady who lives alone and has that beautiful garden and that dog named Dog?”

“Snap out of it! Those are your illnesses talking. You know that’s not you.”

So, now I will take my morning meds, shower, put on a spiffy little outfit, slap on some makeup and tell myself how swell I am because I am not damaged goods.

I’m a real peach…right?

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    Last reviewed: 21 Apr 2011