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The Mind of a Serial Crusher

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If you asked any of my friend if I was a romantic, they’d laugh in your face. Outright. Her, a romantic? Never. They couldn’t be more wrong though. I am a romantic. A helpless, hopeless romantic. I live on a daily basis in the same world as Jane Eyre, Cathy, Dona Lady St Columb and Juliet. I write sappy love songs in my free time and read cheesy love stories. But no one knows that. I don’t let them. I don’t let them know that I want the fairytale – the lost love, the evil queen, the prince on the white horse coming in to save me. I search for my prince every day. I check out every passing male figure, I flirt with any remotely good looking guy within a 2K radius in hopes that one of the men might, just might be Him. But most of all, I crush. Hard.

I have been cursed with the incurable disease of “wanting-what-you-can-never-have”. In this case it’s the fairytale. So to hide this flaw, I find something less drastic and I hamper after it instead. My band-aid? Boys. Step aside serial dater, there is a new case in town : the serial crusher. One of many I focus all my attention on one boy. All of my want, all of my desire for the knight in shining armor, I project it onto him. And for about a year to two years, he is the source of my fairytale. Of course I still flirt with other guys and I even intermix the year with shorter, week-long crushes so as not to get bored. But the long-term one is him. And the further away the guy is the better. Because then I can image whatever I want. “Mr Popular” in class? Not a bad start. Hot rugby player in Spain? Even better.

Of course there is a flaw in my technique. In my desperate attempt at finding love, I confuse reality with fantasy. I mix up my manufactured feelings with my real ones. So after a while I lose track of them. My friends beg me to stop. Tell me it’s not healthy. Boy, don’t I know it! But what about when I meet someone I like a little more than the others? Someone I actually got part of the fairytale with, but someone so far out of reach, I can’t possibly even dream of seeing him again? Is that for real or is that just my desperate brain, wanting just a little more of the crush-drug? So, in fact, maybe my solution is the worst way out.

I’m not gifted in the real world of love. I’ve never dated. I’m not pretty enough or slim enough or confident enough or nice enough. But most of all, I’m still chasing after a dream. And it’s killing me bit by bit. I need to wake up and realize this is going nowhere, that it’s no good for me, that I’m worth so much more than pretend. And once I manage that I’ll be free from the crushes. So begins a long de-sensiblising process. Like a drug addict that’s looking for the way out, I work at stopping my “emotions” day by day, bit by bit. It’s not a clean break but I never expected it to be. I know I’ll be better for it at the end. The only thing that will eat at me every day is one question: that one boy, the special one, the one I thought was something, was he really something? I guess I’ll never know. But it’s this or a steady ride down to insanity.

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