Intermission Two
As a teenager, I came up with the concept that love was a drug. Love was a drug, and loving an addiction. A dangerous dependency that struck the weak and the foolish. I was an introverted, angry teenager who would come up with such a simple minded, angsty concept. Obviously, I had never actually loved anyone, but I was a keen observer. I saw it everywhere. I remember writing my ideas down in my diary (yes, guys keep diaries too - or at least I did) and thinking it was such an incredibly deep thought.
I cringe at the memory now, like most of my teenage memories. Over a decade later, though, I must admit: I have yet to prove myself wrong. It was a slow day at the office today, so I had some time to ponder the issue. I told myself, let’s just say that love actually is a drug. That way, my current post-love life would be… rehab. And honestly, that’s pretty much what it is. I went cold turkey, did well for a while, then relapsed, tried to get my fix elsewhere. Desperately sought after anything that resembled my drug of choice. Love. It’s a complicated one, too. Can’t just get it anywhere. It’s the holy grail of drugs, and we’re all trying to get that ultimate high. Makes us feel great, it sure does, but it’s fleeting. I don’t believe in drugs, and I don’t believe in love. They don’t last. You come down from them, and you crash.
Does anyone believe in love? The Darkness did, a one hit wonder band who lasted shorter than a one night stand. We live in an age of divorce, and I have yet to figure out wether that’s a good or a bad thing. But in this modern age, the concept of marriage, and love itsself, is getting its ass kicked. Some couples last, sure, and I have this urge to go interview all of them, interrogate them, and see how their marriages work. I have a sneaking, cynical suspicion that their marriages are based on fear, on tradition, and a fuckload of adultery.
There’s so many factors in modern life that could be influencing our abilities to love. Maybe we’re all too fucked up on ADD to stay interested in someone for a long period of time. Maybe we’re finally abolishing this ancient, misplaced tradition of marriage. Maybe porn is too available. Maybe we heard Britney Spears say that her pussy was hanging out, and we all unanimously decided that we could never love again.
Love rehab. God, that sounds so fucking cheesy. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a Motley Crue song by that name. But that’s what happened. I was once a weak, insecure teenager, and then I found drugs. Love. I became completely addicted to love, and loving, and being loved. It made me feel strong, happy, secure, invincible. I lived for that high and I crashed until I couldn’t take it anymore. After several years of abuse, I was a wreck. I had damaged myself. I didn’t recognize who I once was. I had ruined myself, completely fucked over my life, all for love. I knew I had to make a change. Things were never going to get better unless I quit. I got divorced. Cold turkey. No more love. It was rough, it was sickening, but I did it. I got through.
Now I’m sobered up, but I’m still weak. I’ve been clean for almost a year, yet I still long for the drug. I still dream that I will find it again and that this time it will be better, that it will make me happy, and that there will be no side effects. I still look for it, every single day. Maybe today will be the day that I get a hold of myself, tell myself I won’t be fully rehabilitated until I stop thinking about it. Get it completely out of my thoughts, my system, my being. No more love.
The question is, how does one rehabilitate in a society of junkies, loveheads, constantly looking for the ultimately fix? They will try to drag me down with them, and I will succumb. I’m strong, but I can’t ignore an entire generation, an entire human history of love. Who came up with love, anyway? Who invented this fucking drug? Who was the sick mind, who was their dealer? Cavemen didn’t love. Animals don’t love. When did this disease spread? Why didn’t I learn that in history class? It seems to have a much more profound influence on my life than knowing when the god damn light bulb was invented. We humans got it all wrong. We have been fucking ourselves up for centuries. Humans are animals. Some say that what makes us human is defying our primal instincts and replacing them with ideas, with culture, with morals and laws. Well, maybe I don’t want to be human. Maybe I want to be an animal. But who am I to single handedly go against the grain? I won’t make it through this week.
Anyway, my work day is almost over, so that’s all the time I have to ponder. Ironically, I am going home now, to take a shower and dress up nice. Wanna know why? I’m going on a date tonight. And another one tomorrow. Ha. But that’s okay. Animals go on dates. Right? Sigh.
i dont know why but this guy really really reminds me of my uncle. also a canadian (as am i, yay calgary!) he seperated from his wife a year ago and undertook a whirlwind of dates with coeds at the college where he worked in ontario. this boy makes me really sad and i wish i knew more of the backstory. i wish him the best.
