I’ve never been in love. At least I don’t think.
I’ve been in lust, obsession and have loved people, and once upon a time, I felt that tickles-in-my-tummy feeling, but I’m not sure if the circumstances of that particular situation were such that it negated itself as an “in-love” situation.
What is this strange beast – falling in love? Does it mean the party has to love you back? Or can it be more of a Fantine from Les Mis situation? Where you have short pixie hair and you’re sick with dysentery/TB/[insert uncomfortable 19th-century disease here] and that darn boy likes the girl with the blond hair but you’re still hopelessly head-over-bare-feet for him. And you will die without him.
And is there a time requirement here? Can you love someone after knowing that person two hours, a day, six weeks?
I thought I was in love. I met him, Mr. Y, on eHarmony in May. I was reluctant to get to know him at first because he’s Persian. Nothing against my peoples from the Middle East, but I’m not Persian, and typically, birds of a feather flock together.
I was upset about a situation with a boy that had happened a month earlier, so I was also preoccupied. But Mr. Y was persistent and aggressive, in a charming way, sending me funny emails & text messages, which essentially made me feel like I was the only person he was thinking of. We shared many of the same interests; he was hilarious and charismatic. He was caring. I loved how he made me feel. And so, it came to the point where I decided he was the only person I was thinking of, a point which just happened to coincide with the announcement that he was friend-zoning me, for a number of known/unknown reasons, the biggest seeming to be that he just didn’t think there was enough of a connection between us to try out a long-distance situation. (His move to San Fran seemed imminent.)
And while I wanted to take him up on his offer of friendship after courtship, it became clear after a series of increasingly desperate gchats that I couldn’t handle a friendship. And he asked for some space.
I’ve been dealing with the aftermath for six months. Even now I feel uncomfortable writing about it, as if I’m going behind his back, feeling a strange allegiance to him, he who I shared so much with in so little time. Someone who it feels like still thinks about me from so many miles away. But maybe I’m kidding myself.
Which leads to THAT MOMENT – you know it well – you’re in a kind of innocuous store that has the ability to make you very happy in that you have access to a virtually unlimited number of goods all at bargain-basement prices (think Walmart, Target, the drug store), and the emotional gravity of a romantic situation hits you, usually a result of the hideous Muzak coming through the speakers. It’s at this moment the universe sends you into a tailspin. My moment was yesterday, and my venue just happened to be Bed, Bath & Beyond.
I was walking out of the bathroom accessories’ aisle, scale in tow, already a little fragile. And then that song “Breakeven” by The Script came on, and I damn near lost it, thinking about Mr. Y.
If you’re anything like me, a number of your life-slapping-you-in-the-face moments go slo-mo on yo ass and suddenly you’re in a music video and the camera’s pulling a 360 around your paralyzed, standing body. The early-morning BB&B’ers were getting their Magic-Bullet-buying on, paying no attention to me as they passed, and I fixed my gaze intently on some product in the middle aisle, the name and function of which I cannot recall. I stood there. Processing sadness. Lost. I’m falling to pieces. Please sing it again, dear friend on the pre-programmed radio. (He did.) And that’s what it felt like – I was still, after all this time, falling to pieces. When I got to my car, I ate a large package of Dots.
I read a beautiful article last week through elephant journal: “Why Lying Broken in a Pile on Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea.” The author explores the significance and nature of Hindu goddess Akhilandeshvari, whose name translates to “never not broken.” Aforementioned author argues that Akhilandeshvari shows us that it is in this moment, the one where we are in a pile, on the cold and probably dirty-ass floor, that we are our most powerful: “All the places where you’ve shattered can now reflect light and colour where there was none. Now is the time to become something new, to choose a new whole.”
I wonder what I will choose.