Break Up to Break Down

"Ex-girlfriends." Few other words strike as much grief, fear, anger, pain, and drama into the hearts of men. And yet, perhaps no one has suffered more due to these two little words than the poorest of all creatures: current girlfriends.

There's a simple answer, really. Competition. Anyone who thinks the woman who used to be intimate with your man (or woman for my lovely lesbian sisters out there) isn't even remotely a threat has what I believe to be super-human confidence. In other words, you're probably a robot.

I've struggled for years with Ex-Girlfriend Syndrome. A relationship would start off great, getting to know the new beau, sharing stories about our pasts, discovering all the quirky things about each other that we have in common--things we thought no one except ourselves did. Then I'd progress to casually leaving my toothbrush at his house, stealing a T-shirt or two to mark my territory. Endearingly clingy stuff like that.

Inevitably would come The Point. There was always a moment, grilled into my memory like a branding iron in the shape of an "X", when he would mention "her" and my mind would come to an ubrupt halt; My head cocked to the side, my attention fixed onto his words like a hunting dog on a squirrel. Something in my subconscious decided that when he reached The Point my job was to gather as much information as possible about the enemy. And so, I would listen intently as my boyfriends poured out their ex-girlfriend stories. Often, these stories would turn into sagas, and my sense of security would begin to waver, waiting for the moment for him to confess that yes, he was actually still in love with her.

Ex-Girlfriend Syndrome had taken hold. I started to fear ex-girlfriends like the plague. If I saw a picture of her, I would hunt for anything resembling her face in photos he had up in his apartment, and bring up the photos at inopportune moments in a fit of jealousy. I would Google her name to see if I could scrounge up any dirt. Before the internet, I would secretly look through his photo albums, torturing myself with photos of them in a loving embrace at Christmas or Valentine's Day. Sometimes there were more racy photos, and those made small parts of my brain explode. Parts of my brain I will never get back.

My masochism truly knew no bounds when it came to comparing myself to the exes. I would compile what I felt were the traits and aesthetic qualities about her that I was sure he still loved. Then, I would go through the list and realize how I could never measure up. It was impossible to convince me otherwise, as some perplexed boyfriends tried. Others would laugh and say that I was crazy; what was I doing obsessing over his ex, anyway? If he wanted to be with her still, that's who he'd be with.

And yet, there was no arguing with my certainty that these guys all secretly pined for their exes. Even if these broads were locked up in prison for the slaughter of defenseless animals, I would find reasons as to why they were better than me. Somewhere in my sense of self, there was very serious harm done, and I found strange delight in piercing my happiness with countless hypothetical images of my boyfriend getting back together with his ex.

Time after time, my boyfriends would come to a place where they couldn't ignore my masochistic tendencies, and they would ask what the hell it was that I wanted anyway. Did I need more assurance? Was I trying to passively break up with them by saying how great their exes were? Was I basking in lunacy, needing help that only years of therapy could provide?

If you picked "C", you were correct. What I eventually acknowledged was a re-enactment of my past. I grew up with my mom constantly criticizing me, never granting me her approval or even once telling me "I love you." When I made a new friend, she would list the reasons why they were "using" me, or would otherwise soon burn me. Instead of getting into her issues and reasons for this behavior, I'll just say this: I learned to love myself the way my mom loved me--conditionally. By constantly comparing myself to my dude's exes, I undermined any chance our relationship had of surviving. If I sabotaged the relationship by rejecting myself before he had the chance to reject me, I could avoid the inevitable pain. And what better way to slowly sabotage the relationship than to focus on what I felt could be a huge threat? I had decided, as soon as I heard about her, that the ex-girlfriend would at some point come back for her man. This would leave me in a position of humiliation and rejection too painful to consider. And so, I set up the situation to happen in my mind before it could happen in reality.

Yes, I was crazy. Neurotic, if you will. Bordering on psychotic, but more delusional. I deluded myself into believing that all men think like my mom; She believed that I was conditionally lovable and that others would always find someone "better" than me. I would zero-in on the most likely candidate (The Ex), and the self-induced games would begin.

These days, I've more than come to terms with Glenn's ex-girlfriends. I actually like them. There's no need to talk smack, to feel jealous, to let my mind wander into dangerous and hurtful places. These women have separate lives from him, they've moved on, Glenn's moved on...there's no logical reason to worry that they'll waltz back into his life and try to snag him away. And I know there's no one Glenn would rather be with, anyway.

Well, Elisabeth Shue, but who's counting? And if Beyonce walked by I'd definitely get him to look the other way.

TODAY'S ROXY SHOCKS RX: We keep recreating painful relationship dynamics from our childhood until we resolve them. And we can't resolve them until we make healthier choices. What we resist persists, so if it seems like you're perpetually jealous in relationships, go get your beautiful-and-worthy-of-love self into therapy.