Trans-cend: September 2009

Horrible title, but I can never figure out how to sum these things up in a single sentence anyway, so it'll do.
Here's the deal. Basically, I've come to a realisation about what I am that I'm none too pleased with, but am attempting to wrap my head around it anyway. Bear with me, I just want to get it on metaphorical paper.
So the large group of people I will loosely call my 'friendship group' have, for the past several years, always been a pretty out there bunch. I've tended to gravitate towards the kooks, the crazies, the amusing, the bold, the entertaining - basically the abnormal and the incredible. Which is wonderful, because I get to experience a lot of awesome views on the world and have a blast with these people, and I'm grateful for being able to be around them because, as I've said, they are so different and awesome and I love it.
But there is a slight problem with hanging around with these sorts of people. They tend to be introspective, sometimes not too sure of themselves, always open to new ideas, slightly apprehensive and difficult to read - and quite a lot of them have been boys. And quite a lot of them have been/are attractive.
I'm sure you can see where this is going.
For quite a few years now, I've found myself in situations where - well, you know what, let's make a list:

Been cloistered with numerous 'straight' boys, whose natural curiousity and perhaps subconcious urgings have led them to lead me on to quite an impressive degree, but at the same time giving them plenty of room to back out whenever the room takes them, leaving me frustrated.
Been in relationships with people who have only just 'come out' - often not even letting everyone know that they are, indeed, interested in boys, and who have got cold feet. This has happened in three relationships, the most damaging of which was my most recent one, in which the best that could be said is that he had the decency to end the experiment a week into the relationship, thus wounding me only greivously, not fatally.
Endless, endless, ENDLESS drunken, fumbling feelups, kisses and subtle touching.
The ridiculous habit I have of falling for anyone who shows even the remotest affection for me, which is tied in to a recent develepment I have only just learnt of.

Here's the absolute fuck of the whole thing though - I have an addiction to physical contact. An absolute, undeniable, complete and utter addiction to it. As in, diagnosed addicted, serious psychological need for it addicted.
And I'm surrounded by people who can fuel this addiction, with their hands and their words and their curiousity and their emotional decay, and I have been for years, and I've gone with it because, hey, I get my fix, right? And at times I've even deluded myself - no, that's not accurate. At times I have even fallen for them completely, allowed myself to form a deep-seated emotional attachment to that which feeds me, and why not? I may as well. Better to like them then loathe them.
And lying there, drunk or sober, alone with one or surrounded by several, addiction being sated on a large scale or a small scale, there's that little nagging voice in the back of my head that reminds me the one undeniable fact; that every relationship, every fumbling grope, every kiss, every meaningful look and every casual screw means next to nothing to them. That I am, have always been and will always be nothing more than an amusing experiment, the oddity, the faggot. The one with the addiction, easily manipulated, prudent and silent and fun while it lasts.
If we are to pour on the melodrama, it makes me doubt whether I'll ever be loved by anyone properly.
Still, twas an interesting observation when running through my head, and I failed at getting it onto the page, but I'm glad it's out.