I always have high hopes for my teams when I watch sporting events. I assume that despite their record or how many injuries the players manage to get, the team will miraculously pull together once I start watching.

This was my hope as I was watching the Bears play the Seahawks. The game did not pan out the way I expected. The Bears were winning. Then they were losing. Then winning. Then they lost. And it was then that I realized that every team I’ve ever loved has let me down.

As a Chicago sports fan, this goes without saying. I have a better chance of winning American Idol than the Cubs do of ever winning anything, ever (of course, with my singing voice that’s already a very real possibility). I’m convinced that half the time the University of Iowa quarterback is purposefully trying to give the ball to the other team. Even Michael Phelps, my jaunty, strange looking friend, let me down at the past Olympics. Really, Michael? Only four golds? Come on, bro.

However, despite how many tears I shed (which are a lot; I cry very easily) or times I’ve cursed my parents for raising me to be a fan of such heartbreaking teams, I’ve never once considered cheering for anyone else. Once I become a fan of something it is literally impossible for me to move on, even when it’s obvious there’s no hope and I would obviously have a happier, healthier life if I just let it go.

It’s not just for sports teams. When I start watching a TV show I force myself to watch every episode, even when it gets to the point that I’m just confused and angry with the writers. I mean, I still watch Glee. Have you watched Glee in the past four years? It may be the worst show on television. I hate the characters so much I spend every episode hoping their lives become increasingly worse, while at the same time not wanting anything bad to happen to them because it will just result in them walking through the hallways singing a Coldplay song. And yet, I can’t make myself erase that God-awful show from my DVR.

During my carefree middle school years, I spent an obscene amount of time becoming “a fan” of Facebook pages. The ones that are like, “that feeling u get when u realize ur best friend will b there 4 u 4ever.” I realized what a mistake I’d made when those pages started posting uncomfortable, slightly pornographic images that showed up just a bit too often on my Newsfeed but I could not bring myself to unfollow those pages.

It was only after Facebook changed so you “liked” a page instead of being a fan of it that it was possible for me to “unlike” the embarrassingly high number of “I am a strong, independent woman” pages that my clearly very feminist eighth grade self liked. Now I only get porn on my newsfeed from my friends that have a sex addiction and/or have been recently hacked.

I don’t know if I should be depressed that I waste so much in my life on things like musical dramadies and cursed baseball teams or be happy that I clearly have so much faith and love to give. In most things in life I have the perseverance of a walrus, but for some reason I cannot give up on TV shows, sports teams or books (I read the Clique series until it became uncomfortable how much older I was than the book’s intended audience).

I would say that I am depressed and annoyed that I love so many things that I should just give up on, but I’m not. My love for these things has taught me that (a) I have terrible taste in everything in life and (b) everyone always lets you down. And while my sports teams and TV shows have constantly let me down, at least I’ve learned the valuable lesson that you can’t. Trust. Anyone.