Love and other social insecurities.

A narrative of love and some possible consequences.

I’ve found such a store of articles and poems, old letters and stories written about love and all in their own way seem to be true. Shakespeare, in his infinite wisdom issued, “Journeys end in lovers meeting”.  Maybe in his day, when things were more simple than today. Today life is filled with distraction, intrigue and temptation so much so that to keep one’s eyes firmly held forward, one needs to block out all distraction  and make sure that remains so.  For the moment you waver, temptation rides in on a horse of pure green and a newer more potent love will grab you, and dash your brain against the rocks of idiocy.

I have thought about love, in the past, I believe much more than was healthy.  Now I see it for what it is: a stimulant with its own side effects, a blood curdling arousal of the stupidity gland.  A get out of life free card, except when you come back down to earth you find the card no longer valid. “Love is blind”.  This was coined by Shakespeare and was quite a favorite line of his.  So true the words ring, as our heads bow at the memories of them unforgettable things.  Those diabolical acts of pure stupidity and social torture.  “Friends, countrymen, give me your ear for I am in love and must bore you to tears!” (Well I coined that).  “The drug inside me is you!” The title of a heavy metal music album, obviously his love was such, he ate her.  Well I know that feeling.

Now this definably is something I know to be true: For some, quite mysteriously, love diminishes, for others love is simply lost or forgotten.  If lucky we are able to rework the links in our mind and reaffirm the attachments.  But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night.  And then, there is another kind, the cruelest, most dire of kinds. The one that can almost certainly without a shadow of a doubt, kill its victims.  It can putrefy their minds where nothings works as it should any longer.  This retched unforgiving kind It’s called, "unrequited love".

Of that, I my dear audience, it seems, am an expert.

To be the victim of a one sided affair, donning the apparel of single sided love, we become the victims of our own minds, trapped alone, unable often to even divulge the surreptitious desires to our closest friends. We become handicapped within our own life story where normally we should have the leading roll, yet now we gladly take second place eager to lap up the most meager of scraps of affection.  Left out, cursed, unloved were the aches transcend Morphine or Valium. Your chest becomes a playground for emptiness.

Who is to say love cannot be found in a single night, the parents of yesterday who mocked and jeered their forlorn offspring’s.  I can see it now the memories still vivid, hurtful and full of loss. I believe you can fall in love in a night, I believe you can fall in love at first sight.  I believe because I still hurt so.

Maybe other emotions play a hand in this cocktail of social disaster and personal calamity, and we know irrefutably, youth has its own cruelties that play out unreservedly on the young.  I think we are more vulnerable when life seems low. More readily do we rush forward into that pit of utter despair believing wholeheartedly that love is the answer to everything.  Our saviour, when in fact it could be the utter end of us.

I hate love. I hate the side of myself that is susceptible to all this.  I hate you if you offer it.  Because indubitably I will once again fall. Then back around I will come, convincing myself that what I know to be true, actually is not and that I have only misunderstood the signs the symptoms of this tyrannical affliction.  You are leaving because love has left by the back door and I never seen it go.  I can and will torture myself with the idea of your return, the return of love, the return of the piece of me that left the canyon in my soul and the end to the ache that Edwards, Bella, showed so well.

However long it takes to recover if recover you actually do, can be augmented with new haircuts, new routines, new clothes, even new friends and in the worst of cases new identities.  And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back.  And all that empty stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade, again.

So please don’t ply me with comments like, “Things will work out" or "You will survive” because surviving all this is not surviving at all.  It’s nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward with the knowledge that you do it for family and friend and not for yourself.  If it was for yourself you would release yourself from the desolation caused by your inability to remove oneself from within the path of love.

I wish to be free. I wish to be whole. I wish to travel through life and not stumble over the awkward mishmash of emotion, guilt and hope commonly referred to as, "LOVE".