Not Simply Love

Broken little lover

Chapter 1

It never seemed as though I would ever experience such loss in life. It all seemed like it would work out. I guess we all thought that when we were younger. We feel invincible. Like life can do no wrong to you. Like life owes you the best and the most. But eventually you look back and realise that it was never a loss at all to begin with. It was all just the twists and turns of the most glorious life ever. Might not be glamorous. But sure, as hell, glorious. I like to think back on my life and say that I had it all. And then I lost it all. I had a very average life. Everything I wanted, I somehow seemed to have it find its way to me. But slowly, slipped through my fingers once it became very important to me. At some point, when I acquired the thing, I wanted the most, I tended to mis-appreciate it because I knew it would be gone again soon. And that pretty much sucked the excitement out of every single thing for me. So basically. I came off as very ungrateful. And that was fine for me. I was not ungrateful. I was afraid to appreciate, to enjoy, to dive in and love every minute of it. Eventually I learned to live in the moment which created a damaging teenage hood for myself. But I wouldn’t take any of it back. Maybe a few embarrassing moments though.

I fell in love very early in life because I lost love very early in life. I do strongly believe that a loved person is a happy, thriving and independent person. Some people go through life thoroughly loved and aggressively cared for. I never had that. Whereas some go through life always searching but never finding the love that they've longed for. I never experienced that either.

For me it was absolutely fulfilling. I found love, I found lust, I found passion, I found care, I found puppy love, I found absolute love and most of all, I found long-lasting, stable love… And then I lost it. I lost it all. I lost the best loves and the worst loves. I had them all and I lost them all. And that for me will be my biggest losses.

To love and be loved is a fairy-tale that everyone wishes to have. And I was lucky to have that in every love I called mine. And when I finally lost it all. I felt my lowest. It wasn’t about the attention received in love relationships. It was more about the yearning for being desired and the need to have more of me the more I give myself to the person. It was mostly about passion, or possession. I felt loved when I felt passion from the other person. The passion where you belong wholly and willingly to the other person. You find that with very few people. Especially long-lasting passion.

I never felt love from the famous 'love-language' theory. I remember at some point in my marriage, we (as in me) decided to join couples therapy for the safety of our failing marriage, and the lady asked us to do a quiz to find out what our love languages were. I did the quiz but did not fully understand it that much. There were questions like,

When do you feel the most loved, when your partner

a) Makes you a cup of tea/coffee?

b) Does a chore without asking?

c) Buys you a bouquet of flowers?

d) Plans a surprise date to your favourite restaurant?

My answer was d. firstly, I hate surprises but mainly because I want to eat and wouldn’t have to bother myself about cooking a meal. Also, it would give me a chance to leave the house and be away from my devil 2-year-old. And also, I get to sit opposite the phone addicted narcissist in a different setting as appose to the couch in my lounge while I talk to myself and hope he may answer at least one of my questions about love while looking deeply and lustfully in my eyes.

But what I really wanted to choose was e.

For him to make my daughter sleep while I take a long, much needed shower, and then sit on the kitchen countertop with me afterwards while we eat m&m's talking about things that doesn’t involve family, our child, what's missing in our relationship and our future (which all eventually lead to an argument) but rather talk about how he longs for me just the same as he did when we just fell in love, or where we wished to vacation alone when our child was big enough to leave or maybe what his favourite season is and how he dreams of building me the most pastel pink princessy closet I have ever seen… and then we would look dreamingly into each other's eyes, move closer to each other while our grip tightens against the other. Getting lost into our desire to rip each other's clothes out and have each other right there. Eventually giving in and having the most satisfying s*x I needed to get through one of my worst days of that week. I guess that would make me smile. That would make me feel loved. That would make me feel like, I can go through another hard day and come back to this and remember that I am loved. I am needed and that I am enough.

That is my love language. Is it connection maybe? Physical touch? How can you choose only one when you need more than one? Why is there no e? I choose e!

I guess there is no instruction notes on how to love. You don’t read a book on someone to understand how they need to be loved. You’ve got to learn the person. You need to observe what they need and don’t need. If they like to be tickled or not. Maybe some trauma from their childhood triggers them when you tickle them. You may find it playful but they might find it scary and very traumatic because of an incident/s that took place in their younger years. Maybe they don’t like flowers because it makes them sneeze but they love little fish. These details are what brings love into lasting love. This is how love develops into passion and possession. This is my person and my person likes when I bring them a clown-fish whenever I want to declare my long-lasting love and ownership to them.

So maybe the love language quiz should ask. How can your partner make you feel more connected to them, and then let you answer it, instead of giving you basic options to settle with.

Once Upon a time, life brought you a blossoming love. You feel it, nurture it and you dissolve yourself into this pot. The water is swirling around and there you are, lover in hand, swirling around this pot of fresh, clear water. Until you realise that the water is turning slightly warmer. You both are still swirling safely and feeling the warmth. It gets hotter. You still swirl, the temperature becoming a bit unbearable. You look into your lovers’ eyes to see if they are panicking or just floating. Based on their reaction, you shall react. Sometimes they might be in a panic but hide it very well. Maybe they will ignore it entirely and burn to malt, Or they might comfort you and assure you that they will protect you. But either way. The water is getting hotter and hotter as you swirl.

The first 5 years of marriage should be blissful. It should be connected and it should be strong. Thereafter, you decide what comes next. You both can either become nonchalant as you live as roommates or you can pursue the odds by working extra to make the other person feel very needed, loved and desired. This is normal, I am guessing. But for me it was not at all this way. I had a very finite dating life. I had a boyfriend in the way where we were written to each other’s death. I met my husband four years before we married. We loved each other dangerously. He would kill for me and I would die for him. Only to later find out that there would come a point he would actually kill me, and I, would dolefully die at his hand. Our love was as toxic as any teen love story. He possessed every bit of my freedom and I submitted to every demand he would throw at me. As red flagged as I thought it would be. I submitted because for me, that was the act of showing him that I loved him. I cut out my best friend from my life like he asked because the only person I needed to talk to was him. I never went to any functions that he was not attending because the only one that needed to see me was him. I dressed as he asked. I ate as he instructed and most of all, I depended on only him for survival. The time came where we needed to marry and as all insecure men, he haggled for his own reasons. I, being the nearly naïve little girl accepted until of course, I realised that I was better than that. I broke up with him and set off on a journey in exploring myself by studying. I moved to a different town and as hurtful as it was, I began forgetting him. During this time much happened. But one thing was for sure, He could not accept that I so easily moved away and started thriving without being under his thumb.

“And the moon would die a thousand deaths to allow the sun, its forbidden lover to taste suspense once more..

the love of which the wolf laments upon the moonlit sky”.

-Broken little lover