The vicious cycle of pain

I was sitting with my legs close to my chest in a beautiful garden on a rare cool midsummer afternoon when my stomach went inflame again. I knew the feeling – that of desiring something too much and learning to accept that it was not going to happen – and I also knew the cause of it.

It was the beautiful creature sitting a few inches away from me, petting a small dog in a manner that seemed completely ignorant of the conversation around him.

I had questioned myself from the start of our “non-relationship.” He had ADD; I had OCD. He was European and noncommittal; I was Asian and dreaming of a relationship. I had told myself this would not work, that there was no place for me in his little world, and that this would be the last time I even think of him. And yet, every time he smiled, texted, or talked to me, I snapped that tiny ray of hope and fell right back to the place I was before – vulnerable, painful but somehow satisfied like an addict between joints.

He told me about his previous relationship – crazy, intense, toxic. His friend told me about how his ex-boyfriend insulted, abused, and tortured him – and how he threw himself to that guy like a moth to the flame. All I thought was how much I wanted a little craziness, a little toxicity, or a little intensity – with him.

Thinking about this twisted chase of cruelty, I couldn’t help wondering why we were so addicted to pain. Was life so boring that we needed pain for excitement? Was life so miserable that we needed pain to escape? Or were we just selfish masochists who blindly give in to whatever our hearts told us to, in hope of finding “true love”? And if so, how much pain would we be willing to tolerate before we finally quit?

Quitting, however, would require closure – or putting a meaningful ending to “something” we had. But in the end, there was just no ending – just like there was nothing to begin with.

Photo Credit: La douleur exquise - from vi.sualize.us/kallini2002/la%20douleur%20exquise/