My roommates have drama.
I'm trying to stay on the outside of it, but I can't help siding with Patrick. Jessi's boyfriend is a creep, and has threatened Patrick's life, more than once. It's only fair that he request that guy not come back into his house ever again. I can partially sympathize with Jessi, only because she's in a horribly unhealthy fucked-up relationship with the guy and doesn't realize how bad it is. Or maybe she does, and she can't admit it to herself.
I know what that's like.
But I also know what it's like to feel betrayed, like Patrick does. I know what it's like to think you know someone--to think you love and respect them, even--and then to have that silly dream rudely interrupted. Fortunately, it is with the slow, careful passage of time that I begin to realize the truth about that whole...thing. No, it was not love, not even a ghostly shadow of it. It was an extended con, drawn out to cause the maximum amount of unnecessary damage. It was a cheap, tawdry imitation of the real thing--and to only recognize this now, I am simultaneously baffled and relieved. Baffled because of just how long I managed to remain in a fog, and relieved because I know that the magic of true love has yet to be experienced.
To be fair, then, I’ve never really had my heart broken. A real broken heart is one that loved genuinely, with honesty and strength, that truly believed instinctively that it was in love. Mine was never that way. It was confused from the start. It became addicted to the poison of everyday habit. I was like a helpless alcoholic, and now I’m finally dry, finding that the lack of toxicity in my life is more refreshing than a swig of any drink. So no, I’ve never been in love. I’ve only been in denial.
I'm trying to stay on the outside of it, but I can't help siding with Patrick. Jessi's boyfriend is a creep, and has threatened Patrick's life, more than once. It's only fair that he request that guy not come back into his house ever again. I can partially sympathize with Jessi, only because she's in a horribly unhealthy fucked-up relationship with the guy and doesn't realize how bad it is. Or maybe she does, and she can't admit it to herself.
I know what that's like.
But I also know what it's like to feel betrayed, like Patrick does. I know what it's like to think you know someone--to think you love and respect them, even--and then to have that silly dream rudely interrupted. Fortunately, it is with the slow, careful passage of time that I begin to realize the truth about that whole...thing. No, it was not love, not even a ghostly shadow of it. It was an extended con, drawn out to cause the maximum amount of unnecessary damage. It was a cheap, tawdry imitation of the real thing--and to only recognize this now, I am simultaneously baffled and relieved. Baffled because of just how long I managed to remain in a fog, and relieved because I know that the magic of true love has yet to be experienced.
To be fair, then, I’ve never really had my heart broken. A real broken heart is one that loved genuinely, with honesty and strength, that truly believed instinctively that it was in love. Mine was never that way. It was confused from the start. It became addicted to the poison of everyday habit. I was like a helpless alcoholic, and now I’m finally dry, finding that the lack of toxicity in my life is more refreshing than a swig of any drink. So no, I’ve never been in love. I’ve only been in denial.
