For one, they aren't like me. Anyone who has a non-skewed outlook on life and a loving relationship can never imagine what my life must be like. Who could? Who would want to? Me. The ever-cheerful psychopath.

Oxymoron, you say? One can't be both happy and a nutcase. Well, my friend, that's where you're very wrong. It is possible. All you have to do is hide one personality within the other.

Take for example this, my love life. Most would consider me attractive. Hell, I would consider me attractive. To start off with, I'm eighteen going on thirty. I have gorgeous dark red hair, a perfect body, and dazzling jade eyes that are, as many have said, 'to die for.' With all this, one would imagine that finding dates is a cinch, right? Not quite. You see, I have this odd desire to hate what I can actually have and to yearn for what is clearly beyond my reach. Following me? Basically, if the ideal classic romance-novel lover drops into my lap, I might be amused, but I won't be interested. Whereas, if a somewhat violent, antisocial misfit wanders into my path, I am immediately on hunter mode. In other words, I prefer the challenge, the excitement. Pure love is fun, but it's only for movies and books. It's near impossible to encounter in real life.

Still don't believe I'm crazy? Well, I'll tell you this much. I'm not the masochistic or suicidal type of crazy. I just have this bizarre craving to try the most dangerous things. Sure, I care about the consequences, but they hold no sway over my fascination with testing fate. You name it; I've probably tried it. Drugs, promiscuous sex, x-games, cults, gangs, and of course, love.

Some consider love the most dangerous game of all. It involves constant struggle, endless compromises, heart-wrenching pain, festering passion, and sometimes it doesn't work out. Then, you're left feeling broken, useless, and alone. Love cuts you to the quick. It makes you bleed. Rips out your very heart, sometimes with a figurative spoon. So why do people still pursue it? My answer: they're crazy. Anyone who goes through that sort of torture time and time again can't be all right in the head. But the people who do continue to seek out the fleeting fantasy of the perfect love and eternal bliss don't consider themselves crazy. They see themselves as normal. I guess that's what makes me the messed-up one. I can see the truth and accept it. Love, in general, is a psychotic emotion.

'People will always deny you what you truly love.' 'You always hurt the one you love.' 'There is no love without sacrifice.' 'Love is a battlefield.' Sound familiar? Common mantras on the lips of those who have 'loved and lost.' Cliched, I know. But some of these disconsolate sayings are true. Very true. I know.

I should explain.

Say, one person loves another but everyone one else sees one of them as bad for the other. They may even refer to the bad one as a "selfish bastard." It doesn't matter that he has set of perfect blue-violet eyes that glisten like the polished surfaces of priceless gems. Nor does it matter that those same eyes work nicely with his ebony hair to create quite an aesthetic appeal. Even his unique personality and sardonic sense of humor fail to win their trust.

In their eyes, it's just not a good idea to talk to this person since he could obviously care less about the other's feelings. As far as they're concerned, loving this person is wrong. It's a hideous mistake. They all try to push the good person toward more friendly types and initiate god-awful blind dates to get the good one's mind off an unhealthy lover. It's always black or white for them. This person is good and this person is bad. They have nothing in common. They shouldn't be together. Simple. For them at least.

There comes a problem when they fail to realize that the bad boy may not be as bad as he seems and the good person may not be as good as so many think. Maybe because of these odd parallels, both beings feel drawn to one another. They can learn from each other's mistakes and find ways at bettering themselves through working with the other. In time, their relationship may actually be a good thing. That's one defense anyway.

Or perhaps, our good character revels in being bad. Maybe even finds pleasure in defying the norm and laughing in the face of society's constrictive dogma. The thrill of a secret affair and of an unorthodox relationship appeals to this person. It is a way of escaping from a monotonous lifestyle. Always being happy. Always comforting others. Always hiding one's true identity behind a mask because the truth is something that the rest of the world is unwilling to accept. Our good character finds joyful release in submitting to the darker and sometimes even carnal desires.

Hoping to avoid delving further into this unpleasant topic, those who 'care' about the person try a new approach. They say that Mr. Bad is just using the other. He doesn't care and could never care. He just wants a quick fix and then will be gone by morning. Everything he says is just an act to win the other over. It's just a clever game he plays to deceive the mind and entrap the heart. He's a liar and a con artist.

Good arguments. But what if none of them are true? What would the others think if they knew that our good and innocent character is the real one in charge and is, in a sense, using Mr. Bad?

Dominance.

Surprisingly enough, both nouns can be interchanged without much difficulty. It just takes a shift in roles. For the case of this scenario, I'll just keep that focused to personality roles. All one has to do is bring up the right topic and the so-called good character is in total control of the inherently evil one. Discovering what that crucial topic is doesn't even take much time, just a little investigating and 'soul-searching.' Result: a method of bringing one to the other's level and creating a sort of equilibrium between them.

All right, the noble circle of friends and acquaintances have managed to choke down that pill, but they are quickly amassing another round of ammunition. They don't give up easily. If they did, they wouldn't be such good friends. They would be enablers. That relates them to the codependent relatives of a drug user. Such a thing must be avoided at all costs. A new argument must be made.

It soon is and appears to be a real winner, involving long thought and careful planning. What is this astounding argument? They want to know if their good friend really believes that the relationship will work out and if that friend will be happy afterwards. Sadly, they are making one critical mistake here. They don't realize that it is a game. A game which is not intended to have an ending. It's supposed to go on forever and ever, until one grows tired or wishes to seek out another player. In a way, it's not even real. Well, it wouldn't be if the heartache, despair, and longing weren't real.

But these feelings are what we affectionately call losses. All games do have to have their rules. Too bad, the rules of this particular game are never meant to stay the same. They must always change or the participants will lose interest.

After a while, the concerned individuals eventually come to the realization that our good character will not listen to them and will act as that person wishes to. None of their intervention or debating will deter this individual from a chosen course of action. No doubt, this should predict future tranquillity for the good character and the bad boy. It should, but that doesn't mean it will.

Things go wrong. Nasty things get said. Some things even get broken. Most can be replaced or repaired. Others can only mend in time. Still, others may not heal at all. Such is life in the realm of love. Same old story, written down from generation to generation. Why still try?

'The greatest thrill in life is the hunt.'

Good saying. It really works in this case. It does for me anyway. The ongoing search for true contentment drives me deeper into this mess. One ruined relationship doesn't deter me, nor do two or three or even ten. It just increases the belief that somewhere out there has to be the person made exclusively to bond with the other. For there can't be interminable misery, can there? I don't want to believe so, so I continue the quest.

Tanya believes I search in vain and will only come back more depressed than when I left. I don't know why she says things like that. With her build, she could have any guy she wanted. It's possible that she has just set her standards too high. In a way, I suppose that must be better than having no standards at all.

A friend of mine told me that one must never give up and if you go for something with everything you have and strive with all your might, you can achieve anything. I'm not saying I exactly believe him, but it's a nice thing to think about during a particularly dreary day such as this one. When the sky is mottled with graying thunder clouds and the quickening blasts of wind have your hair whipping you in face like a disobedient cur; you could always go for some encouragement. This is probably the only time I would ever support such stupid sayings.

One of my many lovers, the one who just left me a month ago, says that happiness in love seems almost impossible to find. Even if you do all the right things, you may still lose in the end. It's just a quirk of life. The only way to get any real satisfaction out of existence is to embrace what you do own and learn to cherish it as if it were the best gift you could possibly receive. Once again, sweet advice. Even sweeter coming from one whom dumped me because I refused to show any genuine respect. I guess I don't feel like I really deserve such a thing after the way I acted.

Remorse in a person like me? Yeah, I feel it often enough and occasionally it can really get to me and tear me up inside. I just never let it show. Always smiling, remember? People like it when you smile.

As for Nicky, the lover, whom I ran from, despite everything I did to make our relationship last, he believes that happiness can only come after a long time of suffering.

It's always suffering for him. His childhood. His school life. His detachment from society. Always suffering. Normally, I don't go for people like that because it mirrors my life too much. But with him, I saw something different. Hope. I guess I thought if I could fix him, then I would know how to fix me. I should have known better than to hope.

Still, everything around me still insists that I be happy and glad. I do have a loving sister and a cavalcade of inspiring buddies and associates. I have a nice house. Some have even mistaken it for a mansion. It is rather impressive. I'm not one to say that my house is spectacular, only that it seems a little better than some other hovels I've seen around here. It even has an indoor pool and a garden.

I have always adored that garden. You can love flowers and you don't have to fight to keep them in your grasp. They can't love you back, but if you imagine it, it's almost like the ideal love. Strange, huh? The ideal love consisting of a partner who won't challenge you and simply takes all of your affection in quiet grace. Now, that I think of it, that's not very intriguing. I prefer a little personality to my partners.

But I digress. I also have a fairly decent GPA to add to my endowments. I'm a regular expert with computers and can hack systems with relative ease. Funny, I should mention that when I first started dating, I analyzed everything as if it were a system. Punch the right buttons, learn the right passwords, work around the firewalls, and you're in. I soon learned that things weren't as easy as all that. Not only that, all that computer imagery used to give me a whopping migraine.

Of course, I have my shortcomings. I have been known to talk too much and to ramble on about things that are meant to be kept private. Though there are certain things that I know better than to share in such a casual fashion. I'm also not that smart when it comes to problem-solving and I get frustrated pretty fast when things don't go my way. I know how to compromise and am willing to seek out help with something that's giving me too much trouble, but I will still throw a fit while I'm doing it. Still, it would be lying to say that I have a short fuse. I can usually take a lot before I get angry with others. One has to learn how to do this when one's expected to be the constant joker. Oddly enough, joking about my life is never taken too lightly. Maybe my audience is just too tense.

I also have this odd obsession with talking to myself. Don't make fun. I'm sure some of you have done this from time to time. I just find that some of my best conversations are between my conscience and me. Now, if only I would listen to it once in a while. Anyway, my conscience tells me that the love I'm seeking is all around me and all I have to do is open my eyes. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I always have my eyes wide open. I'm a big fan of observing everything around me. Shouldn't I have run into it by now if that was the case? I haven't yet. Maybe my conscience is as wrong as everybody else. Why does it seem like even I have turned against myself?

A long time ago, I had another good friend. I wasn't in love with this one. I just liked to talk with him. He had a lot of interesting things to say about life and sometimes about love. Love was usually a big thing with him. Apparently, he was one of those 'loved and lost' types. I don't know if the person he cared for died or simply left him. I guess I'll never know for sure. He's gone now. One of the many human casualties of my life. And I wonder why it's so hard to find someone who can love me.

This friend used to tell me that love was a fragile thing. He also said that it was often hard to recognize until the last moment. One could be holding love in his grasp and not know what it was until it had abandoned him. Perfect. That sure gave me hope for the future. But he gained my attention by saying that love doesn't just come to one, one has to create it. Shape it in a way as a sculptor creates a marvelous centerpiece to express his feelings. Or edit and rewrite the script as authors and playwrights often do to fashion their prize-winning masterpieces. Maybe even alter notes to fit a personal pitch as shown by several singers when they go looking for their signature song. So that was it. Love has to be made. It's not just there. So why can't I create this rare emotion?

Then again, I have seen those who have dared to design their own type of love. They have forced their beau to change just to suit their desires or have bowed down themselves in order to convince their lover to stay with them. Pathetic. Some have even gone after one who could not or would not love them back just because they believed they were meant to be together. They too thought they could create their own love. As with so many others, they were wrong.

Now, I'm left thinking. Maybe it's me who's been doing something wrong this whole time. Maybe I have messed everything up because I was only worried about my needs. Perhaps, this tantalizing emotion has been close to me for some time and I have failed to notice it because I thought that I was seeking out something higher and more desirable.

Another thought that pesters me is what if I don't want true love. What if I just want the excursion? A few quick experiences and then a noble exit. That's what I like. It strikes me that most of my relationships have fallen under those criteria. Disheartening when you think about it. I suppose I have only fooled myself into believing that I have put any heart into my relationships. I have shown my lovers a good time. I have laughed at their jokes, quieted their fears, and sated their desires. But in the end, I see that it was all for nothing. I never intended to stay. I just wanted the experience so I could savor it and then move on to something else, something new.

I guess now most would see me as a bad sort of person. I'm used to the role by now and have heard quite colorful words used in my description. I take no pride in them, but I also choose not to deny them. Denying the truth about one's self is truly the worst thing a person can do. If you deny the truth, then you just set yourself up for a fall when you're forced to realize who you really are. It is even worse if it is someone else who must show you the error of your ways.

That said, I have never forgotten who I am. I know what I like, what I despise, and what I have no particular interest in either way. That has kept me in line to this day. It has also tended to outcast me from those who have discovered my actual identity. People fear what they don't understand. It's a basic fact. I have always found that I am remarkably difficult to understand. Whether it's my view on life or my strange lifestyle, I have not yet figured out. All I know is that people either see me as a social deviant or as an engaging and spirited companion. To tell the truth, I only care about the opinion of the latter.

I bet you're all wondering how I can say all this and still claim to be compelled to smile at all times. Though I personally am fully aware of the person I am, I do not always wish to have others know. I was told as a child, the best way to make friends is to have a welcoming smile. That way most first impressions you make will be good. People won't see you as odd and weird if you show them a jovial personality. Also, smiling can actual make people feel good. It's like it convinces one's whole body to adopt a more genial mood. Fake smiles don't always carry this same affect, but they're always handy in bad situations. Nothing can hide feelings better than an inspiring smile.

Sometimes it takes a few years to perfect. Well, when all one does is hang out alone at parks with some dark sunglasses and a pack of cigarettes, the knack seems to spring up sooner than later.

It's kind of ironic that I contemplate this while the rest of my friends and well wishers are gathering beneath me on the awning. We are having a sort of dinner party and I'm late as usual. They all account it to my ability to always forget about the time or my need to be appropriately dressed for all occasions. Needless to say, they aren't surprised that I haven't joined them yet. I can see them all from up here. Yet, they can't see me.

I guess you could say that things have always been that way. Nobody has ever been able to really see me. I used to think my last lover could. Maybe that's why I ran. I was afraid of being unmasked. It's extremely hard to play a part when your audience already knows who you are. Typecasting. Heard of it? Sure, you have.

As I lean further over the windowsill, I can make out a spray of black amongst the characters at the table. I blink my eyes. The black is still there. God, I really hate that color. How can it be so beautiful and so repugnant at the same time?

It seems that Tanya even invited him over for the meal. I guess she doesn't find Nicky so offensive anymore. That's good. Still, it's a little late. I could have used the support back when we still had a chance. Maybe I wouldn't have been so scared. Wouldn't have ran. Now, that chance has been stolen away by fate and time....