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The Week I Thought I was In Love

I can’t believe my relationship posts got over 5x more views than my BELOVED TRAVEL ARTICLES. Sheesh you guys. I guess that just shows humans are obsessed with love, heartbreak, drama and everything in-between. Besides, my dating life is a tad bit more happenin’ than my travels at the moment, since I’m not going ANYWHERE for another month. Oh, to San Francisco for a bit for besides that.

So what’s the story today? At 26 years old, I finally understand the difference between infatuation and love. I met a guy last week, and it was magical. We couldn’t get enough of each other, and I found myself letting all my guards down and telling him everything and wanting to share my future with him. Instantly. We texted all day and all night nonstop, to the point of my iPhone threatening to die before getting out of the office to see him almost every day. I was so head over heels that I’ve announced to my best friends that I was positive he was The One (they were all skeptical, as they should be. It’s a wonder no one tried to slap me out of it). He was completely flawless and perfect to me, and I had decided that whatever issues that might come up, I would do whatever it took to resolve them so that we could continue to be happy together. It was too good to be true. I realized that I was ready to be in a relationship again, because I found the one I wanted to have it with. For one week, I thought I had fallen in love and it was the best feeling ever. Like getting hit with a train.

BUT.

The thing about infatuation is that it’s like a drug, and it’s like the cheap vanilla extract instead of the pure vanilla of love. I became addicted to him. Any texts/contact from him throughout the day were like shots of adrenaline. It was so hard to focus at work, and I would wake up too early every morning day dreaming about him. He told me he felt the same way. Scientifically speaking, my brain was releasing huge amount of dopamine which changed the wiring in my brain, then synaptic neurotransmitters  made a connection between my lover and dopamine production and thus intensified my feelings for him which vetoed all sense of logic. Google it. I happily obsessed over him because it was being reciprocated, and I didn’t see how I was subconsciously building up irrational expectations for him to maintain this incredible high. We foolishly declared how much we wanted to feel this way forever! Not his fault, not my fault, it was just the way it was.

The tragedy with infatuation is that 1) it’s not reality, 2) it screws up judgement and 3) it’s not sustainable. It’s a dangerous stage, and sometimes it will turn into a healthy, long term relationship (if you actually find the right person)…but I think more often than not it just ends and you feel like shit. I panicked like an unreasonable, lovestruck girl when I sensed he wanted more space and therefore, got put into the ‘crazy’ category. Guys, please confirm but I’m pretty sure I know this already: If a guy puts a girl in the crazy box, you don’t EVER get out of the crazy box. Sigh. It’s like guys getting put into the Asshole box. Or worse, the Friend box. UNFAIR FOR EVERYONE but since when was life ever fair?

Events that unfolded after this incident made it clear to me that it was not love. Damn it, hindsight always kills me. Usually it might have taken me weeks to figure out, but I’m so much wiser now. If he had loved me, he would not have put me in the Crazy box. If I had loved him, I wouldn’t have whined about him wanting to do what was most important to him. I wouldn’t have been a selfish little moron trying to keep him all to myself. If he had really loved me, he wouldn’t have shut down and pulled away from me. If I had really loved him, I wouldn’t have looked at him like he was magic but instead with loyalty and kindness. If we had loved each other, we would have tried to work things out. Love is about putting each other first, and making them feel secure and supported. Real love is accepting each other and seeing each other clearly, then choosing to commit to them anyway. 

So I failed at falling in love. HAHA! Figures. It was only seven days, but the withdrawals are painful, and oddly feel quite similar to heartbreak. As in, it hurts. I could have loved him, if he had stuck around-but the fact that he didn’t just shows it wasn’t meant to be. I feel much, much better though after writing/processing this…and you know what? Next time I’ll know the difference. I know there will be a next time because I’m actually not crazy. In fact, I’m going off to be amazing now. I love my bed.

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