I’ll write to you too, from my unhappy little prison. This is not a faulty relationship, it is rather a non-relationship, a unique flaw, because the defective is me, crooked, wrong, a sentimental addict, a weak one and blah, blah, blah.
I am quite an adult, I have children, I have been separated for a long time but I had learned to deal with it because after a while we give up and move on. I’m left alone for years, to lick my wounds first, to roll up my sleeves then, to shut myself up last, or rather in a cold room. After a lot of suffering and courage to return to being more or less serene, this strange window looked out a man who starts a real courtship with attached adolescent-style declarations, a very nice and interesting man, intelligent, ironic… in short, a narcissist who disappeared almost immediately leaving me very sad and disappointed. I really liked it and I allowed it to twist everything in 4 clever moves because I wanted to get out of my shell, start over, but nothing has changed, even worse, I got one half depression complete with anxiolytics prescribed by the doctor.
It was a very strong slap and I did not react as I should, I was sick, I did not sleep and I did not eat anymore and at the height of this tragic parable an old colleague approached and told me his torments in turn (girl who cheats on him with best friend like in standard TV series scripts).
I sure didn’t want that to happen, but we found ourselves in each other’s arms, so close in trouble and in need of love. Beautiful, nothing to say, but he is almost twenty years younger than me and seeks his way, the story of his life, of course. And I’ve never had any adventuresbut it happened and now I struggle, torture myself with questions, I blame myself. We honestly said to ourselves that there will be no sentimental entanglements, that we are mature and aware, but he is always there, we spend hours writing to each other and we talk about poetry, philosophy, the meaning of life. I await his messages with great desire and those, punctually, arrive, at any time of the day and evening. His contact is always at the top of the whatsapp column, so to speak. He says he feels loved, that I’m worth a lotthat I helped him in a dramatic moment, and I think the same thing, that we loved each other and that we love each other, that this is a form of love too.
This is not a bad relationship, the fault is me, because he keeps looking for me and I am unable to say no because he is the only person who has made me feel normal, just, appreciated, even loved.
Is there a medicine for forgetting to be yourself and only doing your duty?
A hug, R.
Ester Viola’s answer
We now – you and me – will proclaim a great moratorium.
One is worth one, a broken love is as good as a perfect couple.
Because with relationships there is one question that kills all the others: can you do it?
Outside the hypotheses of criminal relevance, everyone does as he pleases. Go ahead as he does not like it, as long as the emotional investment does not exceed his strength.
Nothing gets out of my head that we are a little stronger than how we tell ourselves.
Therefore. Are you together in words? All right. Is he cheating on you? All right. Do you want to stay there anyway? All right. Does he have the obsessions? All right. Do you indulge him? All right. Are erotic games absent? All right. Do you want to do patient care? All right. Do you want to be fatally wounded by the silences but those 45 minutes a week are not to be missed? All right.
Love is unique, every time
Within the limits of the preservation of physical health and this side of the hypothesis of crime, who cares about how people strive to tell each other that this is life too and having fun. All right.
“Do what you want”, they said to each other, while inventing love. “Just then do not complain”, in paragraph 2.
There are no loves better than others, there are only couples that last. The only democratic part of love is that at the end of the year, if we get there, we’re all promoted. There duration does not depend on anyone and happiness is not an essential condition.
By now I am convinced: the miracle of love answers the question “but how do those two manage to be together?”. It is beautiful the bow-tie love of compatriots, but they mean nothing. It is when I see a couple in ruins who resist, it is there that I see miracles, and how love makes people knead like clay, even when they don’t notice it. A lime of habit, affections, addictions. And it’s all under the “it’s normal” star.
You have not written for any particular reason, R. Except to tell me that you have a breeding of happiness and disappointments that bite with the same teeth and you are able to ignore them all, in the name of which you do not even know. For me you can continue like this all your life, I must say get up! to one who is already so on her feet?
The purists of love
Then there is the iron class of the gods purists of love, but those are as boring as the happy houses they inhabit (on Instagram). Slippery matter, sentimental fundamentalism, but we’ve all been through it. Those sure that they will go away in the name of dignity if needed, those that “our love is different”, those who according to them will not tolerate their own and others’ betrayals, the humiliations given and taken and the procession of toads that brings the love below to make us swallow like vitamin pills.
The point, R., is that even finding intelligent solutions, what good would it do? Love prefers what it prefers, it goes on its own, no one has quite understood where.
iO Donna © REPRODUCTION RESERVED
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