Someone told me once that I need people to hate me. I don't think that's true. I think instead that I'm afraid of people loving me. I've never felt it. What do you do with love? What do you do with joy? Are you just happy all the time? To me that seems so foreign, so fairy tale impossible. What do you do with the happiness? So I push. Because I know everyone has their breaking point. And I think part of me finds satisfaction in the knowing that I could never be loved, that I am truly unloveable, because no one I push away has ever wanted to come back......but then that's all I want. I crave the person who turns around and says no. The person who takes me up and is stubborn enough to not let me push. That's all I've ever wanted. But I don't think that person exists. Everyone cares too much about themselves to keep at it. And no one could ever care so much about me. Why would they. So I must be a masochist. Knowing what I know yet pushing people away and hurting myself despite the consequences. White knights don't exist. And dragons are worse than monsters because they aren't killable if they're apart of you.
