Love

Love, a difficult topic. I am reading Henry and June, the journal of Anais Nin, and it has awakened a passion in me for an explanation of this state. Love, the reason for art and suicide, depression and ecstasy. What the hell?

I have been grappling with the idea of love for quite a while (and probably will continue to my entire life). There are so many questions I have for/about love. I cannot even begin to cover the ideas that constantly tantalize me in this simple blog post. It would take years of writing, and double that of editing, for me to develop a solid viewpoint. But as long as no one cares, I'll start caressing the idea in this blog, and expand my thoughts as time goes by...

So, questions: Does one really have a soul mate? Many? None? And how can one recover from getting his heart broken? Must he simply move on with the stifling sadness that each day brings, or does a new love wipe out that consuming feeling?  

I want to know, I want to dig. I want to be an anthropologist of love, so to speak. And this is why: the ins and outs of this complicated feeling have consumed me since I was sixteen. The majority of my conversations with my girlfriends revolve around love. My emotional and physical states are both slaves to it. People everywhere are inspired and broken by it. It has more power (good and bad) than any other feeling in the world. So here we go- musings at 1am on a Wednesday night.

Personally I don't believe in soul mates. I think you, and you alone, decide with whom you fall in love. I agree that two people need chemistry, but there are so many qualities to love in everyone that I am skeptical of this idea. 

I had my heart broken a year ago. And despite every rational belief that I am better off without him, it still hurts incredibly badly. I still have horrible dreams. I still connect things to him automatically. I still feel like my emotional self is in pieces. A whole year and I can't let one day pass without thinking about him. Some days I hate him. Hate him more than words can express. Hate him for cheating on me, hate him for letting me down, hate him for not living up to his potential, hate him for hurting me, hate him for every tear I've shed, hate him for not caring enough to try. Hate him for making me the realize that my depression is very real and I can't ignore it. And other days I hate myself for EXACTLY the same reasons. 

I tried everything to sew up my heart. I went to therapy. I started taking pills. I kept a journal. I ate right. I lost weight. And none of that really helped. So how am I alive? 

Love crushed me. It wound me into its web and injected itself into my system like poison. Poison that almost killed me until I became reliant upon it. So after it withdrew itself the only way I could stay alive was to keep the poison in my system. It's a bad metaphor I know, but it rings true to my personal experience and most of those around me too.

So I found a new source of poison in a wonderful man. A man who possesses all the qualities that I value. A man that loves me unconditionally, baggage and all. A guy who is so understanding that it kills me to still feel broken. Because I don't want to let him down. He makes me want to be whole, and he holds me when my pieces start falling apart. 

Yet here I am, still broken. Everyday I question my life. I wonder if I am doing what I need to to keep my heart healthy. I wonder if I am really depressed, if there are other people out there who feel like there isn't anything left for them to live for one moment, then are ecstatic and motivated the next. 

I wonder if love is poison. 

I wonder if everything in this world springs from it in one way or another. 

I wonder if I'm just tired and I don't make much sense to anyone but myself... Hummm....