Crazy Stupid Love

That is what it is, ISn't it?

For all my life, I've known love as two things. A passion and a drug. They counteract each other, in my eyes. But who am I to say; I've been in countless mind-boggling relationships and one-night flannagans that I can't even (and probably shouldn't) start flabbergasting about the stupid and downright slutty things I've done in the past. And even if I should, would that change my perspective? Probably not. So I will.

When I was 15, I fell in love with the fourth guy I had ever dated. He was incredible. Skateboard: Check. Body: Check. Mysteriousness: Check. Clyde for Bonnie: Check. He was good for me, because he was exactly what I wanted to experience at the time. So we ran off together, literally, because we had cut many ties with people we knew for being together (sorry third boyfriend). I discovered emotions that had never been opened before, passion pouring from the seal, and a dependency I had been unaware of until I was in a rock bottom relationship. We did a lot of drugs. That's what got us closer and more into the 'warp hole'. We also spent our days ditching school and leaving the world to fend for itself, including the people and friends in it. Our futures were looking shiny, but that was probably just the ecstasy. 

I can't replicate the passion that was first unwound from its haven those few years into fiend-infested love. It was like a drug. It pulls you in, plays with your emotions, passes by the tension of the world, and one day, you down. 

We ended up calling it quits, as an understatement, because we went through MANY fights, break-ups, make-ups, thrashing, screaming, pushing, hate and love spirals, and eventually, years of post existence. No one made me feel the way his neurons injected into my brain cells did, in the dance of serotonin we made love to. Crazy enough to say, it took me three and a half years to get over him. 

The next few years of my life consisted of meeting new people and reconnecting with those I hadn't seen since being in the 'warp hole'. I had a good time. I even made friends with a nice french man, whom took me to France one night. From skater dater, I became p**** player and that's around the time my mojo, not to mention cockiness came into par. I have fell in love 3 1/2 times in my life and the second one was in Cali. This one went smoother than the previous, to say the least, yet was a vicious cycle in itself. Long distance combined with infidelity and alcoholism equated into a horrible destruction of the finest emotion to fuck with, love (sorry love). We called it quits after a year and moved on.

The third man (by man, I mean Real Man) I loved was the most humble and generous person I have ever come across in my life. We worked together, as he was the cook and I was the server. I don't know if it was the work ethic that got us so hot and steamy, but we ended up turning a one-night stand into a year-and-a-half relationship. This was the most vital, healthy, and well-being relationship I have ever been in (like a whole wheat breakfast). Things turned clammy when I played a bad move in our field and cheated on him with the fourth guy I halfway fell in love with.

Which brings us to present time. 

The guy I halfway loved came and went. He is still in my mind. I think about him a lot, even though I know this is for the better. He reminded me of the first boy I became friends with in kindergarten. Fun, loving, and squishable; the  best qualities of a boy friend. We squished a lot. And dated for about 4 months. We never considered ourselves a 'thing' which bugged the shitake mushrooms out of me, but I let it pass. One day I confronted him and pushed him to 'the talk'. He explained that we were just friends, that he didn't want to base our relationship off of sex (which is initially how it started off, FWB style). I understood, and slowly tucked the love letter I had for him away in my bag. The next week he found out I had shagged one of his friends. 

Love has always been a drug and a passion of mine, no matter what the consequence. I believe that I would move across the globe for someone I love. I'd donate my organs to the one I love. I'd even start a blog centering on love. 

The hardest thing I know right now, is being on my own. As depressing and de-womanizing as it seems, I get  lonely and borderline unstable without a man around. In the time of trial and malfunction, I had been nurturing a love I had for another person for so long (from person to person), that I had lost myself in the doing. Not only was I depending on another human being for support and comfort, but giving a whole chunk of myself as receptivity. When you add the equation, that's 100% energy used (and inadvertently directed). This is and will be the first time I'm on my own since I was 18. Though times will be spent in solitude and minor depressants, I know in my heart that for me to love anyone the way I loved these 4 people, there has to be a change through growth. Growth is the only thing keeping us alive, for the day we stop learning, the day we stop living.

Conclusion: If I do have a passion, it is love. Even if that love is a drug. So in a productive scenario, we keep this love going. Through career, through passion, through people, and most importantly, through your own being (you can't love someone if you don't love yourself).

SO LOVE YOURSELF!

TOUCH YOURSELF!

DO YOU,

and by doing this, you don't need any protection ;-)