emo

I hate writing about love.


Every time I try, I just end up hating myself and shoving the doc away deep in my drive. But too much has happened to ignore it any longer.

When you start to feel love whether it’s for a significant other or a friend, you’ve basically just signed up for cancer.

It feels so good at the time, like you can’t fully breathe without it. When you’re not giving it or receiving it, you feel like you do right after you get off of a roller coaster–nauseated and bored.

Some people describe love as an addiction. A drug. And just like with any drug or addiction, your mind is melting right now but you’re in for an ungodly pain later. It’s just a matter of time.

So why do we keep doing it to ourselves? Are those of us who keep engaging in love just as bad as people who pay in nickels for the cheapest cigarettes they can find at the only open gas station at 1 a.m.? maybe.

Maybe we’re all just masochists for our desires. Maybe we’re just not meant to be alone?

But we all know, that no matter how much you love the person standing in front of you whether it’s your boyfriend, girlfriend, child, mother, uncle, distant cousin you still keep in touch with, the best possible outcome is that you die together at the exact same time. Literally. Simuldeath is the best scenario here! Because you don’t want to suffer without them and you don’t want them to suffer without you. We can all predict that death will occur, eventually. And yet here we are, driving friends to the airport, letting them cry on your shoulder, falling in love and kissing in the rain.

It sounds so stupid sometimes.

Recently, I lost a friend and a couple of my best friends lost a parent.

The pain seemed neverending at times. Facing it was incredibly difficult. Everyone tells you it just takes time. That time will heal and make it easier. Well that’s fine. And it’s true. But everyone forgot to mention the gut-wrenching feeling of meeting a new person who wants to be in your life.

At this point you’ve thrown up your hands. You’re calling it. F this. Never again. Never again will I go down this road and throw my emotions callously into a vacuum that I imagined would last forever. Oh no. Time to gather my things, and live in the forest. Alone. That’s the only way to protect the heart.

Except, unlike cigarettes and booze, love has a way of feeding you. It’s less of a leach and more of a symbiotic relationship. Sure you can try to say no to love. Shun it, and call it names while you laugh and do some more crossword puzzles alone with your cube wine.

But unless you’re Richard Proenneke, you can’t escape other people. As a matter of fact it’s the only thing that gives your life meaning when you really think about it.

That triathlon medal can make you feel good but it can’t kiss you on the forehead. That fancy Ikea lamp can make the light in your Instagram selfies look esoteric but it can’t hold your hand when you’re nervous. Those new shoes can make your legs look longer but they can’t know you better than you know yourself.

We don’t think about what we’re doing when we start to love someone. We generally don’t think about them dying, or us dying and how sad everyone will be. We see adventures, unforgettable memories, laughing until someone almost pees, blurry nights, new first times, and more embarrassing stories you hope no one remembers.

And that’s why we do it. Time and time again.

Is it worth the ups and downs? Is it worth the deprivation, the destruction, the absolute wreckage of your being when the love is gone?

Go hug someone you care about for a full minute. That’s how you know.

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2 thoughts on “I hate writing about love.

  1. Klaus says:

    You shouldn’t hate writing about love since you have always done it well. I disagree about love being able to be gone … the good kind at least. The kind of love you have for family or close friends or a dog named Orbison or some guy you fall head over heels with for a while. That love is great and it’s not going anywhere because it will remain a part of you … and of them.
    Of course it hurts when somebody dies or there is a big messy fight or your dog pees on your stuff or you realize that the guy wasn’t right for you after all, but that pain only means you felt something before and I think THAT feeling is a big part of what makes life liveable.
    You know when you read about somebody who died and they were on some TV show in the 60s you never heard of and you go: “I don’t know who you are and I don’t give a crap.”? That indifference is not how I want to feel about people in my life. I want them to matter and for that to happen, I have to let them into my heart, even if that means risking to feel pain down the road.
    It’s like with Harry Potter’s Resurrection Stone. The people I love and have loved are always with me and, when I need them, they’ll be there. They are the ones that have helped shape me into who I am.
    And for that I’m really grateful.
    The pain and desolation you describe don’t last forever. The good stuff does. How do I know? I’m writing this comment and, from the bottom of my heart, I hope you have somebody to hug for a minute today.

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