It all makes sense now.
At first I just thought I was cursed, or unlovable, or something like that. And maybe it's just all the chick flicks I've been watching lately, but in one of my lovely, "I love him so freaking much... what the hell happened?!" internal rants, I actually came to some form of conclusion.
I sabotaged us.
Not just that relationship, either. All of them. And since I've got time while Definitely, Maybe buffers, I might as well subject you all to tales of my previous romantic suicides.
1) The first love- Together a VERY long time, so very deeply in love... and one day, out of the blue, the words "We should see other people" come out of my mouth. No, I had no idea what possessed me to say them, and I spent MONTHS regretting them... but they were said. For no particular reason.
2) The best guy friend- This guy REALLY loved me. Still does. We could talk about anything, he made me laugh, and... the whole thing freaked me out. That one didn't last very long.
3) The sweetie pie- We were together a while, and I was so happy when I was with him. That is, until I decided to make out with his best friend.
And 4) The aforementioned best friend- Completely my type, sexy as hell, and sweet, to boot. Everything was perfect. Then I betrayed his trust, made him hate my guts, and had the audacity to whine about it for a solid month afterwards. And here we are.
So I've concocted this theory: I'm terrified of being happy, because I know it doesn't last... so, in a self-fulfilling prophecy type-way, I end it myself. I push everyone away just so they won't have a chance to leave. And I wonder why I'm always alone.
Forever and always-