Somehow im still surprised and hurt when things i expect to not go well actually don't. Im so exhausted with disappointment and mourning what could've been if only things were different or better. What's the point of trying when its only ever resulted in ruins? I feel like im losing my mind lately and like I live in the twilight zone or a bad timeline of the multiverse just for trying to make a change. But did I really try that much? Would it have made a difference if I tried harder if it were even possible? Could I have missed out on so much more for quitting while I thought I was ahead? Or have I really been dealt an unplayable hand in life? I always just push through the bullshit im served by others or create on my own through my poor judgements. But it doesn't feel like enough this time and idk what to do most days, just living in a haze of the hectic life I've known. Is it too much to ask to find happiness that will last and have a simple, fulfilling life? Just once, I'd like to be genuinely sought after for who I am and what I bring to the table and not just for what I can for someone else. I hate this hopelessly romantic love sickness I'm doubly cursed with. All I've got are broken dreams and ruined memories to take to bed with me anymore which hasn't bothered me in a while. I should've never tried putting myself back out there, even knowing there was no potential for a future and trying to enjoy the flow of things I'm still the same poor sap thats a sucker for even a hint of affection offered to me. My heart is only breaking cuz despite obvious red flags ive once again painted myself into a corner by chasing butterflies that were never real. I hate that I set myself up like this with the most unavailable candidates when im actually trying to find something with serious long term potential. I really am my own worst enemy and I always lose. If no one can genuinely want me, I might as well not feel bad for using that to my advantage ig as planned after I first realized I was going down a familiar road of lies told to me and to myself. Yet it still hurts to see that no matter how many times or ways I try I still can't do anything write besides make a fool of myself...










