I'm In Love With The Idea Of You, Not You.
Updated: Jan 11, 2023
It's a new year, my sweet Shopaholics, and as always, society coaxes us to set ourselves a series of resolutions. Often, we are encouraged to leave behind the breakups, hardships and difficulties that occurred in the previous year. I believe that although such experiences may be painful, they tend to be the experiences that shape us the most. Additionally, finding the strength to remember, recall and process the turmoil can feel like an impossible task. Alike to this perspective on the new year is love. In love, Dolls, lives abandonment, theft and deceitfulness. In the aftermath of such a nightmare, sometimes we can only recall a fantasy. So how are you supposed to know if you're in love with the idea of them, or them? ... Well I guess you'll just have to keep reading, won't you?
I long for the nights when you held me in your arms, told me I was perfect and everything you needed.
I long for the dates you'd surprise me with, the little sticky notes on the fridge and the sound of you serenading me.
I long for the trips we'd take, the 'good morning' texts and the expensive gifts you showered me with.
But, oh, how I forget the sickly sweetness laced in all of it. Because isn't wasn't a reality, it was a high that was a prefix to the lowest of lows.
Was it you who I miss calling me names, embarrassing me in front of your mates?
Was it you who I miss screaming so loud that your voice echoed through the house and broke at the highest note.
Was it you who I miss towering over my head, arms raised in the sky, ready to hit?
Yes, it was you. Yes, that was me. Silly me to forget those buried memories.
My sweet Shopaholics, if there's one thing I am sure of, it's that you'll never hear me say
'It's not you, it's me.'
It's in the Shopaholic by-laws that a true Shopaholic doesn't just respect herself, but is entirely respected, adored and appreciated by those lucky enough to be considered apart of her circle.
A person who truly knew your worth would never want to hear you say this phrase. It indicates a lack of mutual accountability, which a healthy relationship always involves. Dolls, when you begin to sacrifice your soul, who you are or your behaviour because you're hoping it will make theirs change, you're in love with the idea of them, not them. I knew I was in love with a fantasy when I not only used this phrase, but this phrase was being told to me by him.
Under his charm, he'd cast me as a devil.
So the devil's place I took.
The devil's place is where I stood.
The podium positioned high, but I?
Felt so small, cowering at the thought of it all.
Your mercifulness was all I pled until one day I bled. And bled. And bled.
Until all that was left was my final hope.
It was tied as the bait to your fishing rod... you know, the one that flung and strung and broke?
But when the crab went to bite, it couldn't, you see.
Because your lawful wedded wife wasn't enough, she couldn't be.
That is the story of a girl who was irrevocably in love with a fantasy.
'I'll never let go, Jack.'
Like Rose, I wanted to hold your hand forever. But like Jack, you wouldn't hold onto mine anymore. You were so frozen in your ways, broken promises and devastating lies that with every icicle you cast, I was impaled with the fear that you'd let go. These icicles left me wounded and lost and hopeless and black and blue. The fear of you letting go was so great, monumental and strong because you were my Jack, my sanctuary, my safety net and my everything. When I lived with you, though, I lived in a house with a ghost... Your heart, soul and mind abandoned me long before your hand. Shopaholics, we cannot love intangible people because people themselves are tangible beings. When I refer to intangible people, I speak of those who threaten that they'll leave unless x,y,z,b,c,a occurs, those who are often away when we need or want them, those who spend their time with you arguing, antagonising, name-calling, belittling or those who only use you when they're in need, lonely or bothered until you feel soaked up like a sponge, wrung out like a cloth and dried like a prune.
I like imagining, Dolls, and it's okay if you like imagining too. It's okay to gaze out a window for a moment too long, to imagine yourself rich, to imagine yourself poor, to think of a life in another world or to picture yourself in a romance novel. But never, Dolls, is it okay to be in love with the imaginary version of someone. Because that is not love... that is an idea.
Kisses,
COS x
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