There are enjoys that recover, and loves that destroy—and occasionally, they are a similar. I have often questioned if I was in like with the person before me, or Along with the dream I painted over their silhouette. Enjoy, in my existence, has long been each medication and poison, a paradox wrapped in tenderness, an psychological addiction disguised as devotion.
They call it intimate dependancy, but I consider it as copyright for that soul: a rush that floods the veins of the heart, a sweetness so intoxicating that withdrawal seems like Dying. The truth is, I used to be under no circumstances addicted to them. I was addicted to the superior of getting preferred, on the illusion of being full.
Illusion and Fact
The intellect and the heart wage their eternal war—just one chasing truth, the other seduced by dreams. In my most lucid hrs, I could begin to see the cracks within the illusion: the contradictions, the dissonance, the delicate falsehoods I dismissed. Still I returned, many times, towards the ease and comfort from the mirage.
Illusions have a wierd nourishment. They feed the soul in methods reality can't, supplying flavors way too powerful for regular existence. But the fee is steep—Every single sip leaves the self additional fractured, Just about every kiss from the phantom lover deepens the hunger.
I when believed authenticity was the antidote. That if I could strip absent the illusions, I'd personally locate the pure essence of love. But authenticity itself can be terrifying—it exposes how much of what we termed love was only projection, dependency, and self-deception.
The Paradox of Want
To love as I have cherished is always to live in a duality: craving the aspiration though fearing the reality. I chased splendor not for its permanence, but with the way it burned against the darkness of my head. I cherished illusions given that they allowed me to flee myself—but each illusion I crafted grew to become a mirror, reflecting my very own contradictions.
Enjoy grew to become my favored escape route, my most elaborate construction. The thrill of the text concept, the dependency struggles dizzying high of mutual longing—accompanied by the crash when silence returned. My emotional dependence turned a cyclical mentality: illusion, intoxication, disillusionment, and withdrawal.
Waking from Illusion
Sooner or later, without ceremony, the significant stopped Functioning. The same gestures that after established my soul ablaze became hollow repetitions. The desire lost its colour. As well as in that dullness, I started to see Obviously: I had not been loving another particular person. I were loving the way appreciate manufactured me sense about myself.
Waking from the illusion wasn't a unexpected enlightenment, but a gradual unraveling. Each and every memory, at the time painted in gold, exposed the rust beneath. Every single confession I after believed now sounded rehearsed. My illusions did not shatter—they light, Which fading was its personal kind of grief.
The Healing Journey
Creating grew to become my therapy. Just about every sentence a scalpel, chopping absent the falsehoods I'd wrapped around my heart. Via terms, I confronted the raw, contradictory feelings I had avoided. I began to see my fallible lover not as being a villain or even a saint, but being a human—flawed, intricate, and no additional effective at sustaining my illusions than I used to be.
Healing meant accepting that I would usually be prone to illusion, but no longer enslaved by it. It intended getting nourishment In point of fact, regardless if fact lacked the dizzying sweetness of fantasy.
Authenticity and Acceptance
Appreciate, stripped of illusion, is quieter. It does not rush through the veins similar to a narcotic. It doesn't promise Everlasting ecstasy. But it's true. And in its steadiness, There's a different style of magnificence—a splendor that does not involve the chaos of emotional highs or the desperation of dependency.
I'll often have the memory of my dreamy illusions, the chaotic loves, the addictive highs. They formed me, broke me, and eventually freed me.
Possibly that's the ultimate paradox: we need the illusion to understand reality, the chaos to price peace, the addiction to be familiar with what it means to be total.