What seems to really determine who cares about you truly, is time.
Another determining factor is actually wanting to give to you, rather than always take.
As a woman who isn’t into being fake, I find that vampires are attracted to me. And I mean really, it’s never enough. The amount of “me” that these kinds of people who appear in my life take and keep asking for, usually when I am weakened by some personal trial or another, is always, always disproportionate to what they give.
I should know better, care about myself more, than to not be able to recognize the vampires.
But because of my own pain, when this pain is really bad, really existential, I settle for these people.
Once I wake up and realize how much of me they have eaten, I see with so much disillusionment where I went wrong to allow them into my life. And how weak I am. And how awful the pain I feel must be that I leave the gates of my spirit and heart open to this passing chaos.
It is like I have some sort of self-inflicted, personal Prometheus scenario in those times – I chain myself to the bottom of a pit of self-hatred and pity, and let the vulture come to eat my heart. It tries to grow back, but I’d hesitate to say anything so positive about what happens to me after a certain length of time expires.
When that certain length of time expires, I pull myself away. And the sorrow of those experiences stays with me. The realization that people can be like that. That each person is in their own hell, perhaps. In their own hell, hurting others who are also in misery.
It isn’t a wonder that people believe in ghosts. We behave like them when we are still alive.