Fears

Sometimes I like writing in the morning instead of the evening. My mind is clear then and I’m allowed to be introspective. The coffee helps a lot, too.

This morning on listening to Adam Carolla and Dr. Drew on pod cast. A little quip was stated the struck a nerve with me. I wasn’t hurt, I was alarmed the accuracy. Dr.Drew brought up a type of person who survives trauma and is attracted to a certain type of people. He called that person “A Fixer.”

I suspect I fall under the codependent category already. I am attracted to a certain type of girl. The broken ones. The reason: I can fix them. In fixing them it assures my place and my necessity. They won’t leave me. They need me. And I find a sick sense of security in that.

Fuck me.

I can see where I’ve attempted to reverse the role, too. In my squirming to make things work, I’ve reversed the roles a time or two. It all makes a scary sort of sense. Especially considering the pattern of my relationships. I am disquieted on it.

I have no faith in relationships. I see people cheating on people and a chord is stuck. Fear and anxiety; a claustrophobic, climbing into a closet. It’s only a matter of time before the walls fall in. I’m always on edge waiting for the other person to cheat on me. To abandon me.

That terrible dichotomy where I need love and revere it. My subconscious needs to be right in both instances. I attract myself to love, and undoubtedly, to a love that will certainly break. The passion is high, the love is high, never works out though. Even if it starts to work out, one or the other side breaks off. The love is still there. The longing, too. But . . .

I’m the one who bailed on Laura. I think I could have committed to her and been happy. Really I did. I also acutely recall instances where my anxiety over her leaving was paralyzing. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I flailed in a most embarrassing fashion. The only way I could come down was to remind myself that I wasn’t committing to her.

There are times where I look at my relationships as practice. I forgive myself a little and stop panicking. It’s a reasonable assumption to make. Fault is absolved and guilt evaded. And it’s true. How true is abstract and left up for debate.

I will get on the relationship thing eventually. It might be the case where I’m already on it. Nicole says she’s expecting me to be the ext one to start a family. I would like a family. In a weird way, I’m poisoning that fantasy so  that it’s not ideal. It’s more realistic. I expect divorce. I expect a broken home and child support for the children. I expect a second marriage. Maybe more kids. Maybe not. Trouble raising the kids. Small doses of acrimony . . .

It’s sad in its own way.

Ultimately, I’m just another person in this world. I’m doing the best I can with what I have.

 

 

 

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