why love is bollocks

I have finally emerged a grumpy old cynic. Goodbye Naïve Peas, hello Peas With Chip On Her Shoulder. How did this happen? Well, I still bear fairly unscrupulous heart scars from the previous break-up, and am sitting fairly low on the Happ-Peas-ness scale generally. The product of the new me is here, and it's nasty. Allow me:

(Disclaimer: the following is not for light-hearted romantics that think fuzzy sweet thoughts all day)

A purely hypothetical synopsis on why being cynical about love and all the pathetic idealisms that come with it, is justifiable:

This Guy and That Girl meet, sparks fly, they get along, they fuck, no wait, they make love, they do stuff together, they get married.
You have GOT. To be. Shitting me.

Case Study 1: She thinks the chemistry and love is mutual, it is not.
This is a classic. Tragedy that is.
This Guy and That Girl meet, it’s as close as love at first sight can get.
This Guy is her quintessential The One. Even her flatmate says so. He is physically perfect, he fucks her like a machine, they merge spectacularly on an intellectual level. They have fun together.
It’s almost too perfect.
That’s because it is. This Guy actually gives a royal fuck about That Girl. She’s just as special as all the other girls he’s subsequently knobbed before. Even through adversity she thinks this is one of a kind, rare, poignant love. He must feel the same right?
Right. Until he introduces his new girlfriend to her.

Case Study 2: He just bid his time.
This Guy and That Girl are very similar. They laugh together, do the same things. It’s fun, light, and challenging. He treats her well. They have shitloads of sex. She adores him. However This Guy doesn't really give a continental fuck about her, while That Girl thinks he’s a pure slice of heaven. This is problematic for obvious reasons. He just hung out with her because he enjoyed her company and got a lot of free sex. She hoped he would fall for her. Then, no, he dumped her altogether. Does this scenario sound too familiar?

This is what happens time and again when people hook up.
Which is why I never expect to find that pathetic sounding ‘soul mate’, or someone who loves me enough to do anything for me. Love is a machine, an establishment. It’s a lie. It must fuck off.
I have chosen to be cynical about love purely because I believe it doesn’t exist.

Until a few months ago, I was a hopeless romantic. I wanted all those fairytale things that [stupid] little girls dream about. Someone willing.

This will never happen. And it’s ok. I’m dealing with it.
Just a few rules along the way:
1) Sometimes it’s easier to be on your own than with someone. You only have yourself to rely on and take care of.
2) People lie. Men in particular. No they probably don’t love you. They enjoy the sex and/or actually love someone else.
3) This whole ‘true love’, he was ‘the one’ deal is just naïve. This never happens. Hollywood has brainwashed you, here's your sign.
4) Get over yourself and expect nothing.
5) Close yourself off. You’ll thank yourself the next time someone with big blue eyes crosses your path.

This post may seem morbid, cynical, bitter. It is. But it’s also true sadly. So here’s a little reality check for all of you: the reason you can’t find love is because it’s not out there.
The few of you that have found it are exceedingly lucky.
I’m only 25, but have luckily experienced a series of not-so-happily-ever-after situations that have put me in my place. I should be content they all happened before I made a complete fool of myself.

Not to say I won’t live in hope of someone saving me from my own cynicism by loving me and me loving them equally back. I live in hope, not delusion. So I know the chances of this are slim.

I can still appreciate that other people think love is amazing, it exists. I won’t be a constant drag about love just because I know better. Especially since everyone around me seems to be attached or hooking up.
It may last for now, but don’t bet your life on it. Because it always falls apart. Eventually.

Save yourself from listening to toaster-in-the-bath music and taking the lyrics of the formidable Celine Dion literally. It has actually been proven that love is a madness, a disease. When ‘in love,’ your brainwaves and behavioural patterns change, and parallel those of a person who has gone twelve monkeys. (New Scientist December 2004, Vol 3.) So consider yourself lucky if you don’t have this unfortunate and heart-breaking disease.

It takes getting used to, but with enough discipline and a healthy dose of realism, you too can detach yourself from one of the world’s most deluded emotions.

PS: I told you this post would be hectic. I'm cleaning out my closet.