The first rule of Fight Club...

I've fucked every relationship I've ever had. Each of them could be qualified. Like Anti-Tyler to Marla as the back of his head is hanging by a thin strip of skin and Y2K is being hastened with homemade explosives - "You met me at a very strange time in my life".
But that's bullshit. It doesn't get any clearer, any more sure, any less strange.
I've been reciting in my head the lines I've given - the "reasons" - from over the years. Somethimes I can't remember, but I can guess.

• I don't need a mother I need a lover (because, heaven forbid, someone cares).
• It's just moving too fast (by my decree).
• I just don't feel like you understand me (or at least the version of me I'm citing now for the purposes of this excuse).
• I'm at a place where I need to focus on me (but actually need to get out of my own head).

Blah blah blash etcetera you know the drill...
Petrified.