My Name is Lindsay and I’m a Love Addict.

I believe we all have vices –an action, a person, a continuing experience, or something we consume that we literally are addicted to. For some –it’s physically harmful to their well-being, like drugs or alcohol. Those types of addictions aren’t the kind you can easily hide for very long, and take intense therapy to overcome.

Then there are other type of addictions that modern entertainment have made hundreds of thousands of dollars out of –hoarding, shopping, promiscuous sex, plastic surgery, and the list goes on and on.

I don’t believe that the average person enjoys seeing another person suffer, but for some reason, audiences enjoy shows or movies that show someone struggling and overcoming a vice they have. I think we all live for the moment when good overcomes the bad, for when the guy wins the girl, for when the depressed reaches serenity, for the surprise twist when the goal becomes reachable, and the dream unfolds naturally.

Basically –we all wait around for the happy ending. And this obsession is where my addiction comes from.

I’m Lindsay and I’m addicted to love. Anything and everything that has to do with, reminds me of, keeps me connected to, gives me hope for, or just is flat-out –love.

I can’t and won’t blame my addiction to love on Disney movies or on being a girly girl. I won’t blame it on a long list of relationships gone sour or guys who have came and gone in and out of my life.

To be honest –I’m not sure where my obsession with love came from (but I’ll figure it out in one of the steps ahead of me), but I’ve reached the point where I know it’s something I need to admit and address before it takes over my thoughts, my life, and my future.

Anyone who knows me or who has spent more than an hour with me could tell you how much love plays a part in my life. From thoughts and dreams of a love that I’ve yet to experience to writing a slew of articles about relationships (or lack of, rather) –love has consumed my thoughts, my energy, and my focus for as long as I can remember.

I’m not one of those gals who has to have a boyfriend at all times. I really don’t jump from relationship to relationship or who throws around those three words insincerely. I have love and lost, I have gotten my hopes up and they have fallen, I have been blinded and burned by love. I’m not afraid of being single and I don’t get into relationships quickly –but I do hate being single. And even more so, I hate dating.

I’ve gone on more first dates than a 22-year-old woman should, and I’ve mastered the conversation, the movements, the dress, and the body language to a science. I know what questions to ask, I know what answers I like and which ones I don’t. I know if it’s clicking and when it’s bombing, and I know how to close the night without a kiss and without a second date.

I don’t have a problem finding dates, and I don’t find myself to be unattractive. But frankly –I’m exhausted.

I’m tired of searching. I’m tired of beating myself up for the mistakes I’ve made or for resenting men who have hurt me. I’m tired of going on dates and being disappointed. I’m tired of trying to figure out what’s wrong with me or wrong with them, or trying to pin-point through astrology, Mr. Google, and fortune tellers when I will finally meet the right guy. I’m tired of stalking ex-boyfriends via Facebook and not being able to let go of love or flames I once had. I’m tired of being jealous of my friends (or even strangers) who seem to have found chemistry with someone else. I’m tired of always looking around at bars or on the subway at men I don’t know –wondering if they’re the guy, and being disappointed when I don’t find the attention I wish they’d show me.

I’ve never really liked being single, nor have I been one of those girls who is so damn good at just letting the punches roll and having no worries about relationships or finding that perfect person. I’ve tried to not go on any dates for 60 days or 40 days and created countdowns until the day I can go on dates again. I’ve tried putting all my focus on exercise, so that I would find myself more attractive, and then my confidence would allude, so then men would be drawn to me. I’ve tried going on a second date with someone I know I’m not that into, just hoping that something would change. I’ve tried burning negative feelings and bad memories, and writing down all the things I hope for with a specific time frame.

And all of these efforts have proven unsuccessful. And being unsuccessful doesn’t sit well with me. I’m a go-getter, an achiever, and an activist. I enjoy being at the front of the pack and going after what I want and know I can reach. I push myself in everything I do, and I hate admitting defeat and giving in.

But this isn’t something you achieve. It’s not a goal with a deadline you can set. Love and marriage aren’t things to put on a checklist. They aren’t tangible, physical dreams that you can see or know when you’ve encountered them.

So, I’m trying a different approach.

I’ve always been told that in order to find the love of your life or that perfect relationship, you need to love yourself. I’ve rolled my eyes at this comment every time a friend or family member have said it to me (especially the ones who are happily in love at that time). But now, I believe it has some merit.

Yes, I have confidence in myself as a person. I have confidence in my career and my financial stability. I have confidence in my appearance for the most part, and in my support system that is always there for me. I have confidence in my ability to move to a huge city, hundreds of miles away from those closest to me, and start a new life.

But when it come to being in love or in a relationship –I find myself to be a failure. It’s harsh, but it’s truthful. I’m not fully in love with myself, and I need to build on that relationship before I even think of being committed to another person.

I’m not a psychologist and I don’t plan on seeing one, but I’m taking notes from Alcoholics Anonymous to do a recovery program for myself. I’ve tweaked the 12 Step process they use to help me in my journey to self-love and confidence in relationships.

I’m not putting time restraints on myself, nor am I making any rules. I’m not going to tell myself that “I’m not allowed to go on dates” or that I have to stop all of my negative thinking towards love cold-turkey. Nope, this is going to be an open, loving, and refreshing process that will hopefully make me see where my issues originated, and how I can overcome them.

Why am I putting this online and advertising to the whole world that I do have a problem with relationships and love? Why does anyone care?

I don’t think I’m alone in these feelings. I don’t think I’m the only single girl who sincerely hates being single and wants to find the love of her life. I don’t think I’m the only woman who blames herself and beats herself up for not being good enough, pretty enough, or anything-enough to keep a man interested. I don’t think I’m the only one who is exhausted of obsessing about relationships and feels the pressure to get married –even if she’s super young, like me. I don’t think I’m the only one who is jealous of everyone who has found love and who really just wants to cuddle with someone at nighttime instead of a pillow. I don’t think I’m the only one who looks in the eyes of strangers, hoping that the process of weeding through Mr.Right-applicants is over.

So this blog is for all of you. Yes, it’s for me too –as a writer, I’ll do better if I document my experience, rather than just thinking about it. But, I want women to know they’re not alone and it’s okay to have these feelings. It’s okay to not be perfect and to be jealous and to be young and full of hope and sadness towards love. The journey of learning to love yourself for who you are, even completely single, isn’t an easy one.

But it’s better to know you’re not alone in these feelings, right?

It’s September 19, 2010 and I’m officially an admitted Love Addict.

Here we go. I’ve got my favorite pair of heels on my feet, my favorite gloss on my lips, my skinny jeans on my body, and my hand in my own hand -telling me it’s okay to go forward.

I’m ready to fall in love with myself.