and feeling a spark of hope when they text back after hours—or even days. It’s exhausting, but somehow, the thrill of chasing someone who’s “unavailable” feels addictive. 💔

I’ve started wondering if this isn’t just about them, but about me. Do I crave the drama because it masks the quieter parts of my life that feel… empty? Or am I secretly proud of my patience, my ability to love more than I’m loved in return? 🌪️ Every time I tell myself, “I deserve better,” I still circle back to the same type of people. Why does my heart rebel against logic so efficiently?

Then there’s the paradox: when someone does show real attention, I panic. 🫣 I suddenly feel claustrophobic, like affection itself is a trap. Maybe I’m addicted not to love, but to longing—the delicious, painful pull of wanting what I can’t fully have. It’s like I’m addicted to the chase, and the safety of reciprocity is terrifying.

Am I sabotaging myself on purpose, or is this just the reality of being someone who feels deeply, who sees love as something to fight for rather than something to receive freely? 💭 Sometimes, I catch glimpses of freedom in imagining someone who loves me without question—but then I realize that version of myself might never recognize that kind of love without first learning to let go of the thrill of wanting.

Why is it easier to want what hurts than to accept what heals? ❤️‍🩹