Teenage poetry or is it fate that I become a disposable door mat

I am not making my situation any better by just thinking about past experiences. I torture myself on a daily basis thinking about failed relationships, ways the women that I have met and liked, laugh, and dwell at the futility of the situation. It has become a sisyphean task to think of what is wrong with me and why my situation has yet to change.

Well, this can't be normal!

I am at it again, for the "n"th. A new Tinder account has been created with my real name, a basic photo and not much else. In the first week I got about 20 matches. One woman initiated conversation, but I have very little comfort in asking questions without prying.

My previous experience reminded me that I am expendable. Although my employment status has improved, my unease is showing.
If I had a drinking/drug, gambling, spending, or other problem, I somehow feel it would be easier to move along from there. I occasionally deal with some racism, I can definitely say motivation, or ambition, needs some work. Being with somebody, makes me think that I would be motivated again, but I am not sure about that. I ironically wish I did not have any belongings making it easier for family to clean up behind me. ( I wonder how scripts and AI can identify when a dark expression is genuine or fictional. People do not share their feelings about finality, do they write about them in the semi-anonymous web?)

I've mulled over business ideas, returning to school etc. however the point of it all makes me wonder. My hobbies don't sustain me. Finding a partner in crime is very important. I have to learn how be a better listener and put myself out there.