Love is the Drug
The love spell had washed over my better sand. I relished the fact that I was the first girl he had made out with in NYC, (somewhat of a pathetic thing to be proud of, as he had only been here about a month) rather than the reality that there are fourteen carat dives, clubs and cafes, abundant with beautiful and approachable women, throughout the city. This didn’t occur to me as problematic because the no-sex thing seemed to ensure he wasn’t all about that. He wanted us to be certain about one another before we fornicated: A romantic ideal that can mask other issues /insecurities as I was swept away with my yearning for this new, wholesome approach to dating.
We fool ourselves in the throes of love; which in many circumstances is infatuation. We build brick walls to create a barrier from our normal consciousness. I’m no scientist, but perhaps it explains a little of why we don’t necessitate as much sleep, food, and the like. We cannot allow our well-rested decision-making processes their usual flow. We cannot fill up on pasta bolognese and steamed kale, consuming 8 glasses of water per day, in fear of returning to normal functioning. The infatuation thrills us to a point where we don’t need as much, which is also nice as grocery trips and workouts are less planned and even less executed. And the funny thing is, like other aspects of addiction, society fuels us. When we’re in our own lovesick world and miss an important detail in a friend’s story, or bring a customer the wrong salad dressing at work, we can make fun of ourselves and blame the situation at hand. A lot of people enjoy hearing about the gossip, the fresh-squeezed juice. At some point they have been there before and can instantly taste the late-night cappuccino. The adrenaline-rushed organ beating beside their own while a long, public kiss only embarrasses those around who are single. It’s a different version of that whole “your life flashes before you right before you die”. Yet a panorama series of events, boyfriends, unrequited love and serious passion flashes by, and A Universal Craving takes ahold and I do my best to fuel it, possibly by sharing some of my past: ”After just a week of dating he stole my best friend's number from my phone and took her to see Wicked, as he knew I had a yearning to see the show”. Or, “Since I was obsessed with some of his music we kept listening to, he gave me his ipod right before we said goodbye one morning. He told me to keep it as long as I liked and I listened to it nonstop, learning him better all the while”. Or, depending on the closeness of my audience: “It’s like he can read my mind…read into me as I don’t even know how because the things that he does…god, make me feel so alive”. And henceforth the conversation continues into oblivion because it feeds both of you. It begins to build, and without you realizing you’ve become more obsessed than when you woke up this morning, without him even being present.
Imagine how many instances the average social being encounters friends or acquaintances in a close-knit neighborhood whom are genuinely curious about what’s going on; the walking on air with a wandering smile is an instant giveaway. Everyone smells the love and wants some. It’s a terrifically terrible never-ending cycle that’s not exactly diagnosed. The addiction aspect is palpable.
Imagine being addicted to an addict.
All sanity bets are off.