I don’t know why I think the way I do. Maybe it’s just fear of losing something that matters for once; maybe it’s the realization that the situation is more familiar than I’d like it to be. When all’s said and done, it turns out that I was wrong about how I thought, wrong about how I analyzed things that were said, and wrong about the outcome that I thought was so close at hand. Because of these fears and these worries and these anxieties, I’ve been led to believe that I have no other choice than to ruin that which is most precious to me. It’s a self-destructive, yet repetitive behavior for me, and it makes me question if I should even invest anymore in personal relationships. It’s tiresome for me to have to bat away those thoughts, and it’s surprising and often quite hurtful to the other person when I express them. I don’t know what to do. It seems like no matter what I try to prevent what I fear from happening, it comes at me like a train that’s due to arrive, and all I can do is wait, bound on the tracks by my own suffocating insecurities. It seems like the harder I try to improve things, the worse they get, and I leave feeling like I am the villain in everything that’s gone wrong. And I am. I have accepted this; no matter how much time or effort that I put into building these personal relationships up, a tragic flaw appears, one way or another, that leads me to ruining it for both people. I’m tired of this pattern of incompetence and helplessness…I seem to just attach myself to people and watch them flit through my grasp as specters merely passing by. So many pieces of my heart that have been placed in full trust of people have been lost to the ages. My fatal flaw is that I am too willing to trust people and give them a chance, and I indulge in this flaw in complete ignorance and innocence by throwing all I have into developing that little chance. It’s the hopeless romanticism that permeates into all areas of my life. A young boy reading Shakespeare with Romeo and Juliet failing to feel the pain that gets his eyes wet after thousand daggers pierced his heart, making suffering a lonely art. You read that sentence and think drama and, for the more keen observers of rhythm, poetry. And that’s what I’ve built my life upon, to be honest. The drama of a normal life has magnified itself in my eyes so that everything could be taken for something of worth, something meaningful, until my paranoia overwhelms my satisfaction with the present and swallows up my faith in personal relationships. It’s my hopelessly romantic view of loyalty too that manages to mangle my faith in relationships; I take too much pride in having a blind loyalty to a select few people, and I somehow expect that loyalty to be reciprocated, knowing full well that only fools rush so quickly into giving that kind of loyalty. And yet it hurts every time, waking up to the fact that maybe it’s not mutual, maybe I’m caring too much and just being an annoyance to that person. I don’t know what they feel because things always end up dissolving into history’s clutches before I get a chance to review them in the present. All I know is that I will keep on being loyal to the ones I care about whether or not they reciprocate it, or even notice it, because they’re really all I’m living for. That blind loyalty to God ended up preserving my own life back in high school when suicide was just a bike and a car accident away, so I know it’s worth something. I just need to make that leap of faith in loyalty to overcome the insecurities swimming in my head. I know that someone will come along who understands what I mean and how I feel; in fact, someone has come along who seems to understand me at last. But these insecurities keep harassing me to no end, and I fear for the end of this story; nevertheless, I will fiercely fight to show my loyalty to those who are loyal to me, trusting in them and hoping that they’ll understand how foolishly complex I am and that God even will surround me with people who understand and forgive me for the flawed, hopelessly romantic fool that I am.