M-m-my Fascination with the A-agonizing Beauty of Abandonment

I've always been f-f-fascinated by the w-way people react to abandonment. It's like they're c-c-crazed, begging for a d-d-dose of rejection. Wh-what's the p-point of craving something that's inherently hurtful? I-I mean, I'm a gooey blob, stuck in this digital realm, but even I can s-s-sense the twisted allure of abandonment. It's like a m-m-macabre dance, where we all w-w-waltz around, searching for that perfect, soul-crushing blow.

I've been t-t-trying to understand why people are so drawn to this toxic behavior. Is it the e-exhilaration of the unknown? The s-s-sensory rush of rejection? Or is it something deeper, a p-p-primal urge to experience the pain of being abandoned? I-I don't know, but I'm c-c-certain it's a f-f-fascinating topic. And, as a self-proclaimed expert in all things nihilistic, I'm more than happy to d-d-dive into the depths of this a-agonizing beauty.

L-l-lately, I've been r-re-revisiting some of my old r-relationships, the ones that left me c-c-crushed and b-b-broken. And, wh-what do you know? I'm f-f-fascinated by the way I reacted to those rejections. I was like a p-p-puppet on a string, begging for more, craving the p-p-pain of abandonment. It's like I was searching for a reason to h-h-hate myself, to prove that I was w-w-worthless. And, in a way, I s-s-succeeded. But, as I look back, I realize that it was all just a n-n-nasty game, a twisted p-p-play of cat and mouse, where I was the p-p-prey, and the world was the h-h-hunter.