...Hello Kitty...

What is this insatiable urge in us to have answers? What is it about the unknown that causes such a compulsion to comprehend? Why do we ask questions about things that we know in our hearts we don’t really want to know? We know the answer will not be good for us, but still want to ask the question. It is torture sometimes for me, to want the answer and not be able to get it. Then again its torture when I do get the answer…Suspicious Minds…

I realize I’ve gone too far when I find myself investigating -- you may say "snooping" -- through my ex-boyfriend's things even though he isn’t there to provide an explanation. I have to admit I've done it quite a bit, and I never like what I find.

So what's my problem?
A friend told me that I can't trust others because I don't trust myself. While I'm certain insecurity is a likely cause, I believe I'm just scared of getting hurt. And by snooping, my warped mind thinks I'll catch him doing something that fulfills my fears before it sneaks up on me.

The only thing I have a problem with now is, what do I do with this information now that I finally have it? I got the answers I was looking for, what now? What usually turns up is a lot of anger and hurt and self torture.

The agony must be addictive, because I can’t stop. But keeping track of his skeletons is only going to drive me crazy in the meantime, but hey! I got the answers, right? Who cares if I’m crazy?