I shot for the sky
I’m stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I’m gonna to fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?
Never know why it’s coming down, down, down.
Why is it that I continually try, even though I know that I’ll fall? It hurts.
I’ve gone through a lot in the past sixteen years. Abandoned by friends, cheated on by a boyfriend, bullied by the people I trusted most. I’ve been lied to, screwed over, left behind, mocked, pushed around, and forgotten. So why do I keep putting myself out there?
One of the answers is that I’m a mental masochist. I’m drawn to things that I know will hurt me. I don’t know if that’s the correct term, but it sounds about right. I ask questions that I know will have a hurtful answer. I’m loyal to people even though I know they’ll hurt me. I talk to people, even though I know they’ll say something about me. I tell my secrets to people even though I know they’ll be spread around. I still wonder how he’s doing, even though he hurt me. I’m too curious, and I snoop where I shouldn’t. Even if I have permission I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Curiosity killed the red-head.
That sounds about right. A curious mental masochist.