Several years ago I fell in love for the first time. I wouldn’t call it a crush, and not just because I find the word childish. We all have crushes, but this was a lot more than that. No, this was love, in all its repulsive, loathsome glory. Love had reared it’s awful head, and I had been selected to play the role of the victim.
The victim. Not the benefactor. Because I wasn’t fit for a relationship. I’m still not fit for one, if you want to know the truth, and I don’t think I’ll ever be. I’ve made my peace with that fact a long time ago. But my heart hasn’t, hence the reason I keep falling in hopeless, one-sided love with people I’ll never have a chance with.
Which was exactly the case however many years ago this story takes place.
I don’t really believe in the concept of some people being “out of your league”, because that suggests that some people are better than others, but I do believe in the concept that some people are not meant to be in relationships, or at the very least have more trouble with them than others, based on their personality. But if there was ever someone who can rightly be considered “out of my league”, then it was the girl I had fallen for. Just my luck, huh?
I won’t go on and on about how much this sucked, as I’m sure most of you have felt something at least somewhat similar at one point or another in your lives. But what may have made this experience different to yours (for your sake I hope it was different) was the fact that a) I’m a writer, and b) I suffer from depression. I’m of the belief that artists by nature are more emotionally sensitive than other people; it’s what makes them such excellent conductors of raw energy and emotion. Whether the artistic talent stems from this sensitivity, the sensitivity stems from the talent, or they just happen to come together occasionally is beyond me. The point being that when I realized I was unlovable, I entered a very dark place.
To make a long story short(er), eventually I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t go on with the way things were. It was tearing me up at the seams, making life unbearable. So, in a state of desperation and frustration, I decided to sever all ties with the girl.
The beginning was hard, and I found myself regretting the loss of what could have potentially developed into a good friendship, all for no discernible benefit. At times I began to second-guess myself, wondering if I should reach back out to her, maybe even go as far as to explain myself. But as time went on I began to realize that my feelings for her had started to fade, and soon the burden had been all but lifted. The less I saw her and the less I thought about her, the more the conflict within me died away.
What was left was The Amputation Contingency.
The concept is simple: the second I start to feel any kind of affection for someone beyond friendship, I amputate them from my life. I cut them out, no questions asked, and I never see them again. That’s why I call myself The Modern Leper, among other reasons. Whenever I feel the rot setting in, I cut out the source.
I’m not going to lie to you; it’s not perfect. I lose friends, and I lose people who could become good friends. Not to mention the potentially detrimental psychological toll this probably takes on my already fragile mind. But you have to understand: I can’t live like that. I can’t take that risk, knowing that my next infatuation could be my last.