I am an attention whore.

I never really knew this about myself. In fact, if you were to ask me, I’d say I hated attention; the thought of people looking at me, perceiving me, judging me…my fear of such unadulterated focus on me was probably even the catalyst of my mid-20s career change.

But, in the world of relationships, in the arena we call “dating,” I like attention. I like talking and staring into someone’s eyes. I like holding hands and forehead kisses. I like talking about my day and telling secrets. I like the feeling of clicking and palpable chemistry. But is attention and the need for it reason enough to remain in a toxic relationship?

Granted, much of the attention I enjoy is based purely on physicalities. I’ve come to find, however, that it is this physical attention (and the prospect of it) that makes me do and say stupid things in order to attain it. I have been in situations where I can now recognize that the attention paid to what I was saying was simply a means to an end—feigned interest in the subject matter so that the end result would be amenable to both parties. I am astute enough to realize that these situations are not relationships in the least. They’re simply a conduit to physical affection. I am not always wise enough, though, to stop myself from getting into—or, sadly, returning to—situations where this is the case.

I’ve continued—and gone back to—many a relationship because I knew that, once I returned, I’d get that attention (lbh, when you’re lonely and becoming cynical, any attention is good). Most of the time, this was not a good idea, and the fleeting moments of fun, excitement and bliss would soon (ie once I was alone again) be overpowered by the anxiousness, neuroticism and renewed (albeit wrongly) hope that has come to define my relationship history.

My dating life has been what it is because I have made it so. The decisions I have made and, alternatively, not made, have put me where I am today. Whether this is where I need to be or not is left to be determined. I take responsibility for the choices in my past and those that I continue to make. But I recognize, at the same time, that these choices—whether good, bad or impartial—have made me who I am. They have made me the person with whom the next lucky man will fall in love. My quirks and faults, my assets and my appeal are all results of the attention I received (forced?) from others before him.

A friend of mine recently told me that in order to be happy, you need to be one with the universe. Now, if you know me you will know that I am the farthest thing from a new age, psychobabble follower there is. But what she said kind of stuck with me. She continued by saying that you can tell the universe that you want to be in a happy and committed relationship but, if you’re putting your energy elsewhere (ie sticking around in bad relationships or not being true to yourself) you’re going to give the universe conflicting messages and, thus, you are not going to ultimately get what you want.

Broken down into our language: if you want to meet the love of your life and continually keep going back to the guy(s) who broke your heart, you’re going to pass up something good. Because no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that you can hang out (or “hang out”) with these other men and still be open to the possibility of a new relationship, you’re fooling yourself.

I will not be a fool.