spooky babe

Through the course of my existence, I have heard several writers talk about how love is like a drug, but I don’t think that love is like a drug. In fact, I think it is a drug. When we think of a drug, what is the first thing that comes to mind? Is it the high that you get from the consumption? Is it the addictiveness? The dependency of that object to make us feel happiness? What happens when you run out that thing that once made you feel whole? Do we lose ourselves? Do we suddenly need to run to something or someone new as soon as that old flame is gone? Do we suddenly run to someone new with open arms in hopes to find that feeling that you lost with that previous person?

Love is a drug. It blinds us and makes us lose sight of who we are and what we do. We crave for it, we long for it to make us feel something we never have before. And when that person, that drug is gone, we pick the next best drug, the next best person to make us feel alive...But that’s not a safe way to live...

When we allow someone to become our source of happiness, it can be detrimental to ourselves and deteriorate our ability to be in solitude with ourselves. When we are left alone without that one we love, we patiently wait on the moment when we’ll be reunited with one other. This is know as dependency. You become dependent of that person. Their presence makes you happy. And in their absence, you feel as though you’re one half of a whole. 

This person soon enough becomes our drug, our addiction. We become addicted to them the same way the man with the black lungs continues to smoke, or how like the alcoholic man continues to drink. And though both the smoker and the alcoholic know they’re causing themselves harm, it’s difficult to get either one to change their ways because although they know they’re hurting themselves. Those few seconds of bliss make it all worth the harm. The same goes with love...