Sept.

Love is a sickness in which I currently suffer from; it’s symptoms include feeling ‘on top of the world’ and overwhelming joy. It also erases one’s creativity, I have found, as I have not written anything of substance in about a year.

I confess: when I said that love is a sickness, I lied. Love is a beautiful thing; love for humankind, brother or sister, oneself or life, are all beautiful things. Unfortunately, the love of all things beautiful distracts one from seeing all things ugly – a thing I once captured quite vividly in my writing. With this new found ‘love for all things beautiful’ I have been unable capture the ugly side of life as I was once able to. And yes, you may be asking yourself if I am offering a reason against love – the lack of ability to capture the ugly side of life. And to this I give you an enthusiastic yes! It’s true.

“Then how do you cure yourself of this ‘love for all things beautiful?’” you ask me.

“Through heartbreak,” I reply. “Heartbreak is the cure for love.”

Then you will commence to call me insane and bitter as I’m seemingly willing to give up such a great feeling, that of being in love, for a life of heartbreak and feeling of loneliness. You will then question my mental stability and accuse me of all things vile in the world. After doing so, unconvincing me of my vileness or mental stability, you will ask me why I would choose a life of heartbreak over one of love.

“All in the name of creativity,” I smirk. “In the name of creativity!”

Six.

Understanding the human mind is no easy task. One can invent theories to explain this or that action or run experiments upon large groups of people to support this or that theory. But in the end, the human mind as a whole stands as an enigma. Yet these psychologist maintain there is a blueprint to human behavior. We do this and that because of this and this because of that. If only human behavior were so predictable!

I just felt a surge of anger when I wrote that last paragraph. I ask: do you know why, psychologist?

‘Perhaps,’ you reply, biting your pencil, deep in thought. ‘Perhaps you are bothered by something you said. Or, you suffer from…’ Which then you then begin to say the name of a mental disorder you believe me to have and it’s history and possible treatments. And before I know it, I’m leaving your office with prescriptions and invitations to group sessions sharing the same disorder you made up for me minutes ago. Oh psychologist, is there anything you cannot predict?

‘No,’ you reply firmly.