It's been a time of soul searching. Last week I enountered a new low. It's been coming to a head for nine years. It never interfered with any relationships because there weren't really any relationships. I've always suspected that when it boiled over it would be in a flashy display of anguish and unmutable cries for the end. Untamed grief can rip people apart. The uncertain heart can trust nothing, not even itself. As I sat alone in the corner of my mind, I lost control of the pain and let it take over. I've been given the opportunity to love again. It wasn't that way when we met, and I never thought it would get to where we are today. The only thing that stands in the way is me. It seems that I've become comfortable in my misery. I look forward to it's consistency and I know that it can't get worse than it is (barring a horrible accident). I can barely look him in the eyes because I know my real feelings will be seen. But is that so bad? I remember when I was seventeen, fresh off heartbreak lane, sad, yet ready to get back out there and catch love. There was no sense of impending doom. What could go wrong? Even those insignificant feelings of my teenage self were full of life and passion. Nothing was going to keep me from discovering that special person. Within two years my life would take a catastrophic turn, nothing would be worth anything anymore. So, back to the present era, I've been looking inside, trying to at least understand why I've let myself get to this point. I suppose I got tired of lies and cheating. I finally felt the sting of death in my life and figured out that if I could lose someone who actually loved me, these other people must not be worth it. The lonliness grew, but I ignored it. I assured myself that it would be better to turn away from the gnawing feeling growing inside me, all that could come from another relationship is more hurt.
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