I Thought I Could Fly

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.


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