I refuse to give up control.

I refuse to allow myself to fall in love. I refuse to possess another’s heart, because I refuse to lose my own.

Being guarded is the only way that I feel I can stay sane. In the past- what seems like lifetimes ago now- I chose to give my heart, and was awarded with its being burned; as though over a bed of coals at a festive roast, with everyone staring at me, waiting for a reaction.

“Come gather around the fire and breathe in the intoxicating aroma of Kirsten’s misery!”

Opportunity has arisen, and I take measures:

A) After meeting someone I actually like, I completely ignore them. If accidentally I answer a telephone call, my methodology is to act completely distracted. I like to pretend that I’m doing something else that is far more interesting, and am, therefore, preoccupied while conversing. Though “familiarity breeds contempt,” the opposite, it seems, is true as well.

B) When allowing a male counterpart into my circle, after cursing at myself for doing such a thing, I keep him at arm’s length, until he eventually gets bored or realizes that we’re never going to move forward.

C) I choose to be with people who are terrible matches for me. Commitment-phobes and the emotionally unavailable are a great choice. If nobody in the “relationship” has any expectations, than nobody gets hurt, right?

If I control my own self and my own heart, I can control my own happiness.

I refuse to give up control.

Sometimes living life at its maximum, sometimes barely eking by. Trying to get through parenting with a modicum of sanity intact.

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