The gift of an agonizing limerance

I am very fond of her, a little too fond. The kind of fond where you can’t read her name without feeling a lump in your chest, the kind of fond where every time you see someone with THAT hair color, a part of you wishes it’s her so you get to see her, and part of you wishes it ain’t her, to spare yourself the agony of meeting her and then not being with her.

I have been told that this is unhealthy. I have been told that limerence is a bad thing, that maniacally obsessing over someone implies you don’t have ambition, or not enough of it. If you want to be loved, find something you love. People can sense it when you have something you’re dedicated to. No one wants the burden of being the answer to your dissatisfaction. To feel too much for someone is unsettling, and love is supposed to “feel safe.”

If I am actively hurting from feeling too much, maybe I need to regulate myself. Maybe I need to slice off all these edges and kinks in the feelings that explode out of me in every direction, as the mind literally just needs any excuse to replay thinking of her and how much I miss her. I hate squeezing my love to make it more palatable; I hate showing restraint. I’m in agony, the agony of missing someone, the agony of holding back my spirit.

I am aware that there’s a thread of unreasonableness running through me. I am opening myself up to a horror show of misery that comes from wanting someone too much for no justifiable reason. It’s the risk of giving someone power over me, of handing someone ownership of my depths that they don’t quite deserve.

All the advice out there is from therapy-adjusted people who have learned so well to curb and manage their emotions that they can hardly know the mania that actually comes with truly loving and caring for someone. I wonder if it’s a good idea to spend so much time focused on doing things the right way. Is there a space for mania? Is there a space for confession riddled with the shame of wanting someone too much?

Is it really bad to yearn in a way that turns you physically sick from the agony? Do they know the sheer joy of your heart exploding at a small brush of hands? They are all so well adjusted that I wonder if they feel things as deeply, or at all. I wonder if people are so busy protecting their hearts that they’ve forgotten how to use them.

What if they are all wrong? What if all the reasonable people are wrong? Do you really think a great story or a great tragedy was ever started by reasonable people doing reasonable things: communicating well, expressing boundaries, and taking it slow? Do you really think a great, soul-moving love comes from this “safety”? It’s all cope, all of it. I don’t buy it.

I am a little crazy. I feel a little too much, and I can’t hold it in. I’m not gonna use that as an excuse to lash out at people, but I will not deny that there’s a storm inside of me that can’t be calmed by words.

This is my life, if I don’t live and emote, the hell am I doing? What the heck am I doing playing it safe and playing it right? Why learn a lesson from my misery? Why not make the same mistake again, but differently this time?