For most of my life, I have cultivated the very strange habit of giving my heart away to people that will never be able to give it what it needs.
I know that my very nature makes me demanding. I need passion, lust, an urge for more, interesting conversations about literally everything and anything but especially philosophical and metaphysical subjects, I need to be cuddled and even babied sometimes, I need to be held and comforted and reassured, and have my fears calmed and my anxiety soothed, I need to be shown infinite respect, devotion and patience, but still given space and time to breathe and grow on my own, I just- listen; I need a lot, ok? I need a lot. And I give a lot back. A fuckton of lot. I am able to give people love and devotion and knowledge and diversity of thought that they had never even assumed possible before. A bit of emotional damage and mental instability come with the package as well, yes, but I know damn well what I bring to the table. And I know what I need the other person to offer as well.
I know that. I’ve been aware of it for a few years now. So why the fuck do I keep putting my effort and emotionally investing myself in someone that I know cannot give me what I want and need?
Obvious answer seems to be that deep down I kind of want it to fail because I don’t actually believe I can be with someone in a well-balanced healthy partnership, because if I was, then maybe I would actually be… happy. *gasps* And who would Diana be without the misery that always follows? Who would I be, without the veil of sadness decorating my work and my words? Would I still be me, if I was actually content and satisfied with my life? Maybe that’s it.