I don't necessarily mind staying relatively similar to the old days. I liked myself in the beginning. It was those middle years that really got me down. From about 5th-8th grade I was horribly depressed, with minor/major flare-ups throughout high school. I'm better, though still apparently undatable. I take that sort of rejection rather hard, considering I should be used to it by now. I've just always wanted to be loved, or at least liked. But even when given the chance, I would immediately back off. It's easier to say "No one loves me," than to be brave and actually go through with the relationship. I know. I wasn't particularly brave.

By the time I decided to ante up and attempt to be brave, it was already too late. I knew it. I blew it. I'm still frightened, but I'm trying my best to breathe. I'm rereading some fanfiction that I wrote last summer. It's intriguing stuff, full of idealistic dreams of a perfect love that will never desert you, even if you treat it like garbage. You see, that was a main selling point to the character of Marcus Cole. He put up with so much garbage from Ivanova, yet he loved her all the more for it. We all loved him for being such a perfect man, though he really was depressed and unhappy, with a death wish to boot. The point was that he loved her, no matter what. That's what I want too, but like all idealistic dreams, it might be a long wait.