In which love feels like a giant game of chicken

Does it feel like that to anyone else? My friend David says that group work is like a giant game of chicken, with each participant trying to do the least amount of work so that one ‘chicken’ ends up doing the brunt of it.

Sometimes love, relationships – specifically those between members of my own generation – feels exactly like that.

Why do we do that? Why do we push people away at the worst moments? Why do we make people feel unloved or unwanted by drastically shrinking our communications with them? I have this feeling – as a girl, as a person who generally over-thinks things, and as someone who loves incredibly hard – that to ask these questions, to ask for more attention or for a level of attention previously received is to become somehow needy or clingy. I hate those words. I hate those behaviors. They’re right there up in the top three things I do not want to be, in a sort of three-way-tie with tease.

I’ve been writing a lot lately, spurred on by panic, and portfolio page counts, and a sudden abundance of time and emotive energy. I’m not entirely sure whether anything good will come out of it, if it will all be rather emotional drivel, if it even matters to the people I’m writing things about.

The longer this goes on, the less I think I know. Of anything. About anything. And the things I do know seem to change six times an hour.

I’ve taken to repeating what I do know every night, even if the things I know keep changing. Tonight, this is what I know:

-I will be a happier better version of myself if I keep writing. (Writing is not necessarily something that makes us writers happy, I think. But it makes us alive.)

-I am strong enough to handle anything.

-I love.

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