Cure

In general love is a good thing. It supports you, gives meaning to the things you do and is usually valued when given and received. Sometimes love is a destructive habit. It may have begun well and whole but somehow it became diseased. You may not even have been aware of its gradual decline, but little by little it become a malignancy and metastasised into all facets of your life. This deformed love damaged your self esteem, your self image and your reason to be. The symptoms of this malady are pain, sleeplessness, loss of appetite, cognitive impairment, irritability and depression. An additional side effect is social isolation, self imposed, brought on by a fear of awkward social situations.



The cure for this aliment is defiantly a painful process. I understand that recovery does not occur in every case. Many people seem to bounce back as if they were recovering from a simple cold or sever headache but others never recover. They become drug or alcohol dependent developing lifelong social disabilities. For most of us the cure is a slow and intensely agonizing experience. This process is also difficult for friends and family to watch. Everyone who cares about the victim offers comforting words and performs supportive tasks, but know the path to recovery is just something one has to endure alone. And the cure itself is something the victim must find for themselves.


In every successful cure there is a defining moment when the victim begins to rebound. When there is a realization that the disease is losing its potency; because you know that the person you loved does not deserve to be loved; because you finally recognize that the person you loved was not even real. This understanding can be heartbreaking but it does begin to bring about the cure.