When my girlfriend of 13 years moved out, it was one of the worst days of my life. I came home to an empty house—furniture gone, silence echoing. That moment broke something inside me. I didn’t want to feel that kind of pain again, so I built emotional walls and sought comfort in the arms of others. What started as a need for connection turned into chaos—I found myself casually dating seven different women at the same time. They didn’t know about each other, they all thought I was the one. The relationships lasted from the range of 20, 13, 5, 4, 1 years, amongst several others. I told myself I was in control, but I was spiraling.
These relationships weren’t about the future—they were about the now. Escape. Stimulation. Distraction. Most started with friendship and convenience. They evolved physically, then emotionally—just enough to keep things going, never enough to commit. I became a master of avoidance: dodging plans, texting from the shadows, juggling the emotional needs of multiple people while never fully present with anyone.
I didn’t understand boundaries. I didn’t know how to say no. I thought swapping numbers was harmless—until it snowballed into deception. It felt like adrenaline. Like baseball. Like a game I could still win.
No one stopped me. Friends and family just said, “That’s Jeff—he always has girlfriends.” I didn’t realize how deep I was. I didn’t know I was hurting others because I never slowed down long enough to see them.
I was chasing validation. I needed to feel special. I needed to feel wanted. Underneath it all was a growing numbness, a mental storm I couldn’t name. Only later did I begin to understand how ADHD and bipolar tendencies shaped my impulsive decisions and emotional swings. I was doing everything I could to feel alive—but I was slowly destroying myself.
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