Victoriously unhappy...

Got into a semi-deep discussion with my friend, roomie, and co-worker at work, today.

As it occasionally does, it was a discussion based on how I sometimes go about things in an illogical way (which I will admit to when I do it).

Case-in-point, trying to develop romantic relationships. I'm told that I'm not willing to do several simple things to make myself more appealing.

It's true, to an extent. I'm not keen of hitting the gym, but I'm not anywhere near fat...or lazy. I'm not averse to getting a haircut, but I need some kind of idea of what kind of cut to get. I like most of the things I wear (I'm quasi-fashionable), and actually wouldn't mind getting some new wardrobe pieces, etc.

It's all decisions based on variable (and constantly varying) circumstances. And combined with the fact that I don't think there's alot that's unappealing about me, at least on the surface.

Ultimately though, as I tried to explain a bit of my methodology, I simply broke out a personal revelation about myself, and why my relationship attempts fail.

I'm afraid to be happy.

Happiness never lasts for me. Oftentimes it's so fleeting that it can be said to have never happened at all.

I have been alone so long, alienated for so long, that there's a kind of perverse kind of love for my own suffering. I cling to it. I cling to it because it's been the only constant in my life. Unlike friends, family, even possessions, my pain has never abandoned me. And so I cling to it, like a drowning man would cling to a life-preserver in the middle of the ocean. In an uncertain, and confusing world, it will always be there for me.

And because I know that I have problems, I feel a sense of responsibility concerning relationships. On one hand, I want to be in one almost desperately. I would bleed for a honest-to-God "good relationship". I want to be with someone I can trust and confide in, and unveil my innermost secrets, and return that in kind.

On the other, I know that only an extreme few would be okay with some of the things I think, need, or feel. And it's disheartening to keep trying, only to keep failing. And I suspect that I set myself up deliberately to fail. I start to question my value. I ask "do I have anything to really offer?".

And I suspect that I don't...and I can't subject anyone to that.

I try to explain all this, but all my friend does is make semi-jokey comments. And I start to remember why I don't share this type of stuff very often.

I end up feeling totally misunderstood. Like I'm speaking a different language.

And the only one who knows my language...is me.