"I'm a fixer. I get attracted to broken things and that, a lot of times, hurts me because I unnecessarily overestimate my capabilities of piecing the flawed back together or patching up gaping holes."
After which I spin some spiel about how I turn that around like a good job interviewee would.
There's a running joke amongst my friends that I don't date people that "have their shit together", that I am uninterested in perfection and comfort. I take in the trodden, rough around the edges and slightly angry at the world and its systems.
The reality of this was a little hard to swallow, so I naturally denied its truth with a laugh at first, until I lined all exes in a row and I come to a very eye-opening realisation that there was always something "wrong" about each of them (I use the word "wrong" very, very loosely). One was only functional through delusion, one showered himself with abuse and self-hate, one was not the brightest bulb, one was dealing with crippling anxiety and clinical depression, etc. etc.
I invested great emotional and psychological bandwidth in exchange for, what I hoped, was validation and some version of love.
At the same time, pouring myself into these relationships (with people or projects) also affected who I was, skewing what I deemed were problems in my own reality. I would adopt their demons as part of my empathy process so I could fight them better for them. I subject myself to being overwhelmed and exhausted by situations that are not my own. It is visceral torture, and when things mellow, I mistake my fatigue for catharsis.
This part of me is still a work in progress, and I am slowly, painfully, learning to detach a little instead of instantly picking up a sword every time I hear a muffled, hellish roar from the inside of someone's chest, ready to swing, swish and sacrifice for a demon that's not even mine.
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