Masochist

I never thought I’d ever get pleasure out of pain, but…there I was.

Time and time again, chasing after men who either didn’t want to get caught, or men who claimed to love me, but constantly broke promises & tore my heart to shreds.

That would be me…always trying to hold onto that which harms.

Or trying to grasp that which simply dissipated through my fingers like smoke. Ghostly in its insubstantiality.

I must be a masochist.

I was constantly putting myself into a position of pain.

Well…no more.

I’m done.

I refuse to subject my emotional health, my heart, my self-esteem, into that position of self-flagellating hatred anymore.

I can’t do this, anymore.

So, I’m just done getting involved.

I am not going to participate in the game.

It hurts.

And, I really don’t like pain all that much.

Sure, I’d love to have someone come into my life who would be kind to me; someone who would be in a relationship with me. Something that had a hope for a future, at least.

But, survey says…that’s not happening.

So, I’m just not going to play the game at all.

It’s not worth it, anymore.

Not when I’m the one who has to pay the price of it in pain.

In the box you go…