Addictive personality. Yeah, I referred to myself as an addictive personality for a long time. Oh yeah, I believed it. Turns out that, luckily, I'm the opposite sort. I'll do pretty much anything. I have. None of it interests me.
Descriptions of other folks' demons have always fascinated me. Ray Charles and junk. Robin Williams and depression. Vivian Leigh and sex.
There came a time when a woman in my life dragged me to a therapist. Since that day I have become convinced that we could all use a little help, some of us more than others. Every female since has taken me down the same path.
Turns out that they like me. The therapists, that is. I'm pretty sure that it's mostly because I'll tell anyone anything. You've probably noticed. Nobody has to wind me up, break me down. Put a nickel in the slot and I talk. And talk.
To label me a romantic obsessive is to understate my condition. Oh, the misery that I have inflicted on the ones that I have tried to love. Of course I tend to write and sing and talk about my heartache, my blues, my misfortune. That's what I know about. That's what I have lived with.
The love? Yeah, I got that part. That's the easy bit. The romance? Yeah, I'm the worst. "I'm sorry," won't really do. I am sorry, though and I've never meant to hurt anyone.
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