I’ve always been OK with being by myself, taking myself on dates, being the third wheel when it came to outings with friends and even family. I am used to being the black sheep. I have accepted that even my love life isn’t great, twenty-six, four major failed relationships, one almost down the aisle, and many, many ‘flings’ gone wrong.
Love and I just don’t get along. I always felt as if I were the girl that guys would practice their fixed selves on, you know the ones who were trying to repair their inner issues by using your love and kindness. By using you. Of course, I am no saint, I have broken my fair share of hearts, even the nicest guys who would have done anything I asked. Do I hold any regrets? Of course, it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t question my own judgments and choices sometimes. Do I believe there is one person out there for everyone else? I used to but not so much anymore. I believe we find similar matches in other people, overlooking the red flags and ignoring our instinct to run, get the hell out of there while you still can. I guess that’s how so many relationships end up lasting for so long, even when the love has gone.
You’re afraid to be alone.