That's Called "Falling In Love"

"I obsess over people, that's just my thing," I said, sitting cross-legged across the room.

"Obsess...you keep using that word. What does that mean? What does that look like?"

"OK, well, like, I get obsessive. I don't know." I tried to form the words that would accurately depict this all-consuming feeling that begins with a boil in my stomach and a loss of sensible thought. "I guess it's kind of like an overwhelming need. Like with my ex, I was always wondering what he was doing, or when he would message me, and whether or not he actually wanted to chill or was just agreeing to my invitation..." I trailed off.

"Lex, that's called falling in love."

"Oh."

So it turns out that I've fallen in love quite a bit then. Some would say that I'm pretty lucky; I'd say those people have never been in love.

I was that little girl who truly believed I'd meet my one-and-only Prince Charming, know immediately, and then run off into the sunset together, never doubting or questioning it. Now that I'm a (semi) functioning adult, I realize that it's no coincidence that title's acronym is PC, because it's definitely the more Politically Correct way to say "Piece of Crap." Now this view has nothing to do with tainted past experiences or the people I've loved. I think people are great, and relationships can be beautiful experiences. People offer so much and everyone can give you something different that no one else can. Meeting people and experiencing life together can be so wonderful; what is not so wonderful, though, is falling in love.

Hear me out; imagine you're in a coma. You can see yourself lying on the hospital bed attached to all sorts of tubes; you keep screaming at yourself to just get up. It's so easy! Just move! But you don't, obviously; you're in a coma.

Falling in love is sort of the same. You feel all sort of logic and reasoning drip from your body as you're left watching this once rational being make decisions and choices that would never have otherwise happened, and there is nothing you can do about it. You suddenly care about another being's every move, not even out of jealousy or neediness, you genuinely want to know everything about them, what they're doing, when they'll next talk to you, see you...You want it all. They're the first you want to tell when something happens, good or bad. Their pain is yours and you're always hyperaware of their presence. You leave yourself during your time together and your needs are just never as important until you know theirs are satisfied.

Now ideally, they want what's best for you too and push you to achieve your goals, but that is the very unlikely best case scenario. And as wonderful as that will be, you still just think about them. You want them to be happy and they're your first thought in the morning and the last one at night. It's all consuming.

People who tell me I'm lucky have never been in love. I have left a piece of myself with each person that I have loved, just like I have a bit of them that will never leave me. The people I love have shaped me into who I am, trading pieces and parts to make up what is me. I loved our time together and appreciate all that they have taught me, but now, I am my own first and last thought of the day, as I should be.