People these days throw the word love around all the time.  Hell, I throw it around sometimes too.  It is a meaningless word most of the time, but more often than not I hear it and it makes me happy.  Somebody loves me.  “Love”.  You hear it and think “Yes, I am wanted here.” and then you realize that the word is simply four letters strung together to create some conception of attachment.  The next time you hear it, it has less of an effect, until each time you hear it it is as though you are being stabbed by a needle in the heart.  You think “They love me, but it’s not the love I am looking for.”  It is the love of friendship, not the love of truth.  The search for that type of love has recently been weighing heavily on my mind.  I do not function well alone.

I tend to become attached to people quite easily, and it freaks people out a lot of the time and screws things up most of the time.  More often then not, to add to that issue I lash out at those I am attached to, causing them to recoil both their enjoyment of me and their trust in me.  If someone can be attached to another, yet still lash out violently (verbally, physically, emotionally…) at them, what kind of person is being dealt with?  Most would go straight to psychopath.

The very fact that I can be laughing with someone and then verbally attacking them within the course of a single conversation makes certain things difficult.  Quite frankly, it seems like I am my own worst enemy when it comes to friendship (whether platonic or more).  I seem to build myself up, and then proceed to tear myself down again.  Pull people in, then push them out.  It doesn’t help that every time (almost without fail) that I push someone out or lash out at them, I end up turning on myself as a form of punishment.  All I can see when I look at myself is a failed endeavor.  I guess I just can’t seem to learn my lesson.  I don’t get it.  I don’t like it.  I’m tired of it.