Self-diagnosis

I think I have this kind of sickness that makes me subconsciously push people away once they've learned how to like or love me. Not that kind of safe, platonic love that one can dauntlessly admit to a colleague who have grown to become a friend. It's that kind of love--or whatever you want to call it--that makes some unlucky people think that I bring joy and completeness and excitement in their lives because they think I am fascinating and they can make hundreds or thousands of stories with me. By sharing this, you may think that I am some self-absorbed, delusional freak but I don't care. I know myself and I have a lot of stories that prove how shitty and fucked up I am. I don't know how some things started, how I invite people in my life or how I manage to get involved in their little tales but one thing is for sure: I have this tendency to leave in the middle of a flourishing story, I have this tendency to disappear despite happiness and comfort, and I have this tendency to destroy what was once dubbed as beautiful.