The word 'no' means so many things to me. One of which is that every time I hear it come out of one of my parent's mouths, there might as well be shiny, red letters printed across my forehead that say "NO FUN". That happens a lot. When I ask them if I can go out with friends, they ink up that stamp of theirs, slap it on my head, and point me to my room.

Why they do this, I haven't figured out. Perhaps it's my lack of responsibility at times. For example, often don't do my homework. I owe that to absence of motivation. An angry face of a teacher isn't enough motivation to spend hours after school, slaving my soul away on a comprehension assignment that really isn't going to make a difference in my grade. Instead, I get my motivation from other things, typically threats such as my metapausal mother yelling at me that she'll take away my laptop if I don't raise my 4.14 GPA.

Every time they slap me with this "NO FUN" stamp, it's rubbery surface presses into my skin, reminding me of why we're human. It's not that I'm irresponsible. No, I discovered a much deeper problem with me when I was talking to a friend of mine online.

I was telling him of my boredom and how I had beaten every single advertisement game that appeared on my page, including melting a block of ice with my breath, smashing a mover against a wall, and out-swimming fish with fangs. I won an assortment of things, including a PS3, a Sidekick 3, and a number of other things of the third generation, all blocked by my Google pop-up blocker.

His response to this was clean, simple, and painfully blunt: "You need a boyfriend." Of course, I laughed this off and realized, I'm not fit for a boyfriend. Any boy to go out with me has got to be absurdly ignorant or just plain stupid. Anybody who knows me well enough for me to consider a friend – not many at that – knows that I am independent and self-reliant. That explains why not many people are considered friends.

I told him all the things I would not do with a boyfriend, including PDA (the secret coding for public displays of affection but if you didn't know that, you're probably not from the 21st century), spending all of my time with him, and sacrificing anything for him.

I discovered I was doomed to never get a boyfriend, for they would have to be happy with these things. It is highly unlikely that a guy is willing to handle my constant mood shifts, my independent behavior, and my passionate obsessions of the literary sort. I don't think there's a man on earth ready for that. I'm gong to be a heartbreaker, doomed to always scare away any boy who gets too close to me. Me, plus boyfriend equals needy, emotional heartbreak and long-lasting grudges on both sides of the equation.

I'll probably end up old and bitter with millions of cats roaming around my house with stacks of books I've written. My friend agreed with me to a certain extent. He said that if I could swallow my pride, I would be saved from my certain doomed future. He concluded this thought with "but I don't think that will happen because you're on an anti-pride swallowing diet." I responded, quite crushed obviously, asking if I had a high ego.

He said 'no' – a better version of 'no' without a large, rubber stamp – and explained that I just had 'high standards'. Whatever that means. I don't think its considered 'standards' when I'm searching for a guy who can handle me without having a breakdown himself.

Perhaps this ties in with my lack of motivation. I'm independent, and let's face it, I'm different. Perhaps it's a fear of being like everyone else. I'm anti-conformist and any guy I date isn't allowed to be a conformist. Perhaps that's what my friend meant about 'standards'. Maybe I do have high standards but is that all bad? I don't want some flowerpot that clings onto my arm while I write in the park, trying to make out with me.

Those are my standards and the rest are up to the guy. They have to be able to handle a living, breathing emotional wreck that's insecure and has candid obsessions. If they can't do that, their heart will be torn in half and it will be weighing down on me. There's another thing about me. I'll take the blame but I hate being blamed for things. If I say it was my fault, well that's fine but if someone accuses me, they just made my red list. The red list isn't a good list either.

I always thought I was a hopeless romantic, dreaming about the perfect fairytale ending with a prince and princess sort of relationship with forever love. Those sorts of things can happen but the girl has to be a damsel in distress who wouldn't be alive if it weren't for the prince. I'm anything but a damsel in distress. Now, I imagine myself in more of a Gothic fairytale where love never lasts long and when it does, hearts are broken. Gothic fairytales never end happily and I'm pretty sure that's my fate. To die in eternal heartbreak with nothing but my books to comfort me.

It's a scary thought but unless I change my ways, I see no other future. Change is not something I'm good at. I'm afraid that I'll change into something bad. I'm afraid I'll be a monster, driven by desire, back-stabbing all my friends. I'll look like a mannequin, dressed in expensive clothing with piles of accessories. I don't want to be like that. That's not who I am and there's no way I'm changing me for some worthless guy.

Imagine a world where happily ever after is a myth and X never marks the spot. A girl sits alone in a confusing spiral of her own thoughts and mirrors reflect terrifying images of what she could be back at her. Her heart is broken, her soul dead, but her essence has lived on, traced down through her own pride that she refused to swallow at a young age. That girl is me, trapped in a never-ending abyss of her own fantasies that will never be. It is a grim future but it is mine.

I was thinking about this, still talking to my friend and winning pop-ups, when my parents inked up their stamp and planted it on my head, centered above my head. They sent me off to the confines of my own room, left to think on my horrid thoughts alone.

I'd just like to mention this is something I wrote about myself last year and reading it now, it seems quite silly because my views on love have changed drastically. Just thought I'd let you know.