Everybody has issues. EVERYBODY.
The trick isn't to find someone with no issues, because they don't exist, but to find someone who's issues compliment your own.
Because you have issues, too. Trust me. If you think you have no issues, holy shit, do you have issues.
I never worry more about a person until after I've told them some of my life and they respond with, Nothing like that has ever happened to me. My life has been perfect. I'm totally happy and adjusted.
Yikes.
These are the people to keep an eye on.

I'd rather deal with a maniac in a hockey mask brandishing a chainsaw, than a business man with a cylinder of anthrax in his Gucci briefcase.

I was an experiment. I understand that now. An experiment to see how far I could be pushed, how many gallons of tears she could make me cry.
She broke up with me so many times, and each time, it felt like my worth was gone.
I'm still like that, when a relationship ends, but not as bad.
Back then, I was worse.
Her favorite game was, One Last Kiss Before We Say Goodbye.
And she'd kiss me deeply while the tears flowed down my face. Tounging my mouth, tasting the tears like she was drinking me.
Giggling.
Giggling, I swear to God.

Then she'd go inside and call another boy and I would walk the long walk home, sure, SURE that I would spend the rest of my life alone.
I was fourteen.

She'd call me back in a couple of days and ask if I wanted to come over to watch television. We'd drink Pepsi. She'd drink from the new bottle and I'd finish the flat bottles her mother left in the fridge.

I was a pain junkie. Am I still a pain junkie?

The back of the bus was the worst place to sit, and yet, he found himself working his way there every day. He was slight, and polite and I'd tell you he wore glasses, but you already knew that.
The girls were there, waiting for him, like they were everyday. He saw them and his stomach shrunk in on itself, but he kept walking.
The were predatory. He didn't know why. Wasn't his place to know why. All he knew was that every day, they would take their lives out on him and he would willingly sumbit.
Here he is.
About fucking time.
Nice shirt.
Slap!
Wanna feel my tits.
I don't know what you're talking about.
Scratch.
Let me see your dick.
Drink this.
What is it?
It's our piss.
Pinch and twist.
Look! He's crying.
Ha.
Faggot.
You little faggot.
Who's our faggot?
Scratch his face again. Let's see some blood.
I'm gonna rip his shirt.
Break his glasses!
Yeah!
Please don't break my glasses. They're very expensive.
Punch!
Grab
Smash.

Where are you people now? Where are you people now that I'm bigger than you?

But am I bigger than you? In my mind, I'm still the small child who willingly walked to the back of the bus to get beaten by the girl he loved and her sister.