Rule No. 17: Love is not enough.

I sometimes wonder if as a society we are doing it wrong.  The “love” narrative is everywhere. Girl meets boy.  Girl dates boy.  Girl marries boy.  Girl pops out children.  Girl grows old with boy. Girl dies.  H A P P I L Y   E V E R   A F T E R.

Is that why we are all so miserable?  Because we have bought into this fairytale hook line and sinker?  When the reality is relationships are messy.  People stay together out of fear of being alone.  And we martyr ourselves by thinking we are pushing through in the name of love.

People do terrible things to one another when they are in love.

Soul crushing.

Life sucking.

Of course not always.  Sometimes it’s amazing!  Sometimes it’s just okay.  And sometimes it’s brutal.

But most of the time it takes some work.  Compromise. I hate compromise.

I think the trick is to find someone whose narrative fits closely with yours.

That’s hard for me.

I don’t know what my narrative is.

But according to my dear sweet boyfriend (dripping with sarcasm here) that’s not really important.  We as a society value rugged individualism.  When the reality is we should be discovering who we are with another.

I will have to disagree.

It seems that I am consumed with some sort of love narrative.  Maybe it’s just me.  I am looking for the person who will answer my call.  So we can run wild together.  Like we are meant to.

I think that my dear sweet boyfriend and I might be terribly wrong for each other.  Love might not be enough.  And yet I’m immovable.  I can’t break from him.  I feel like I would die if I did so.  That can’t be normal.  It screams of co-dependency.

And there are moments when I am with him that I just feel so terribly alone.  Sometimes I’m able to push through and retain some sense of myself.  That giddy girl with all the questions.  And then I am slapped in the face with his meh.

I convince myself the meh is a punishment for how I’ve acted.  Therefore it’s warranted and I should just endure.  But is that really true?  Which came first the chicken or the egg?

He certainly isn’t what I thought he’d be.

We certainly aren’t what I’d thought we’d be.

It seems we are stuck in an endless loop.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

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