Delirium

There are many kinds of love. Love that hurts, love that is hurt, love that leaves, love that never lets go, love that cries, love that wipes away your tears, love that feels like a burden, love that takes the weight of the world off your shoulders.

My love was the worst possible combination. It hurt, it was a burden, it left, and it made me cry. I managed to defeat it once, but it wasn't gone. How could it have gone, when it was a part of me?

At first, it was just lust, and lust can be fought off.

Falling in lust is like falling in love for the emotionally challenged. Addiction, obsession, delirium, it's all there. The only difference is that you can fall out of lust easily, whereas love takes a lot longer.

I had absolutely no reason to love him at first, except his looks. He was closed in, unreachable, cold, vicious.

Falling in love is like taking a twig and burying it into the earth. At first, it rots away, but then, under the influence of a catalyst, like pressure, it turns into the most incredible mineral.

All my friends were in love with him at some point. He was the god on their pedestal. They all got over it eventually, but I couldn't. My mind had created a perfect image of him, one that he couldn't shatter with anything he did to me. I was afraid to talk to him, afraid of him doing something wrong in front of me. I was afraid I would break along with the image.

The clutches of love are worse than those of death. Death is an end to grief; love is the beginning.

It gripped me. I felt I was drowning within myself. He was poison, he was a drug. I was already addicted, and I had no intention of stopping. In the end, drowning feels good if it's your intention.

Light destroys the well-crafted shadows first.

I saw him crying one stormy night a few years ago. The statue is not supposed to feel anything. It's not supposed to cry.

He was no longer perfect, but the pedestal was still holding him. He had a lot of issues, but so did I. My mind refused to see an obvious sign of alarm, and turned it into common ground.

I tried to talk to him, but he was not interested in making conversation. He had more important things on his mind. His destiny was awaiting and I was an obstacle. He elegantly shrugged me off and continued on his way.

The first step to healing is admitting your problem.

I realized I had a problem when I caught myself sneaking around to catch a glimpse of him. I saw him enough as it was, so when that wasn't enough, I decided it was finally time to stop.

It's easier said than done. I would cry all night, snap at people, I even stopped eating.

Withdrawal symptoms wear off in time if the object of addiction is not in sight.

I refused to answer any of his questions. When I spotted him on the hallway, I ran in the opposite direction, hearing my heart break more with every step. I wasn't about to give up. I refused to fall again.

At last, my obsession wore off. I still loved him, of course, but it was the same love I had for any of my boyfriends. The drowning sensation was always in the back of my mind, urging me to fall back. I stood my ground.

The only person whom you owe complete honesty to is yourself.

I know what happened. My mind took an ordinary boy and created an aura around him; I believed it to be true. Sometimes I still do, and I still dream about him at night. This time, however, when I wake up, I have a real person to hold in my arms. A real person with fears and weaknesses, a person who is capable of love.

Happiness is in the mind of the beholder.

I know I'll never feel like that again. I know that such intensity can only be felt once in a lifetime. I don't regret anything. I'm happy with an average lover, whom I love reasonably and responsibly. It took me a great deal of effort to reach this point. When I long for true passion, I remember that passion is obsession and love, addiction. Lust is only dust, dry ashes that scatter in the wind of will.