Broken Bella Donna

{March 3, 2013}  

Here’s the thing.

At my ripe age of in-my-thirties… I’ve never been in love. At least I don’t think I have. Then again I could well have a screwed idea of love, I come from that sort of family.

I am prone to hard core obsession at the drop of a hat. I will want to know every last thing about you, so that I can feel like I *really* know you, and I will analyse everything you say to seek out tidbits that I can misconstrue as having meaning. I will fantasize a variety of different scenarios involving us, and develop a secret life in my head that involves us both, where we live happily ever after. But don’t worry, I wont believe it’s true. I will believe it has real potential though, and end up creating interest in guys that I otherwise would never be interested in. I will think about you constantly and I will try to arrange opportunities where our paths will cross.

It’s all a bit high-schooly.

Is this love? If you’re 14, sure. At my age, I’m unsure. Once again, I feel like I haven’t progressed past my mid teens, emotionally.

I am feeling a bit obsessive again at the moment, and working hard to not create these crossing paths. The sooner I’m rid of it, the better.

We were good. I was comfortable with where it was at. I was happy to go for ages between talks, because I was cool with it. We’re mates, it’s ok, I got a bit obsessive but worked through it and realised – we’re just friends. No more.

Then you told me it’s not platonic for you. You ‘like’ me.

Now I’m creeping back to my obsessive stage one. Thanks a bunch!

A little paranoid part of my brain fears that you sensed the tide had turned. That I was no longer hanging out for our contact. And that by throwing that little bit in, you’d have me back on the hook, to feed your ego.

A little romantic part of my brain fears that this could be something more than we both can allow it to be and we’re missing out. That the situation is preventing us from reaching our potential.

The main part of my brain knows this is all hogwash that I’ve been through before, and no doubt will again.


It’s just the same old predictable roundabout. With the same old predictable ending.


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