Your Love is My Drug

Oh this is so perfect, the soft feel of your lips against mine...I don't want anyone else.
"Oxytocin."

So wonderful, ah. every single word you say makes me want to just --

"Oxytocin."

The way you touch my hair, just pull me in closer, I --

"OXYTOCIN."

I love you. Only love. I can't stop thinking about the way --

OXY. TOCIN. OXYTOCIN!!!"

There should be an alarm in every girl's mind every time she potentially slips into this horribly frustrating, anxiety-driven quicksand.

This alarm could be supplemented by a boxing glove shooting out of a built-in wall. 

Or an anvil falling from the sky, a la Wile E. Coyote.

Sadly, that would probably not be enough. Because half the time we are very well aware of the stipulations and limitations of the situation, yet dance off half past the moon and whatever one can consider some version of reality. We just ignore them.

Thank you, every single love song, card, movie, novel since the creation of time.

vasopressin. dopamine. IT IS LIKE CRACK, PEOPLE.

Listen to "It's in His Kiss". Catchy right? Absolute bullshit. It is not in his kiss. It is in the evolution-produced secretions in the brain that are supposed to influence you to reproduce and protect the offspring. It is not the way he holds you, it is the oxytocin/vasopressin/dopamine released when you cuddle with another human being. It is a chemical reaction. It happens to everyone. With everyone(if you are not genetically programmed to be repulsed by them from the get-go, that is.) With anyone. It could be any member of the male species. Female, even.  We are programmed to crave affection, interaction. Anyone(or thing really) can fulfill this. We just overcomplicate with influences from cheesy romantic comedies that lead to absurd ideals about who or what we are supposed to be doing amidst the pre-reproduction song and dance(big white wedding? BUY ME A CAKE.)

And then there are those who cloak themselves in these flights of fancy to extract whatever possible from whomever possible. The manipulative types who are capable of making any situation appear to be your fault. Managing to sever all ties with reality, they shamelessly guilt-trip others into drinking their toxic Kool-aid.

I had had similar experiences once before; both of us wide-eyed college freshmen with our hearts set on being lawyers in New York. After my break with both him and the idea of being a lawyer, my favorite comment on the matter was "I'd hire him as my lawyer in a heartbeat. Manipulative bastard can convince anyone of anything."

This world would be a very cruel one if not for one (sometimes-secret)weapon:

Friends.

Primary role: "It's ok, we will hate him for you."
Often we find ourselves revelling in the fact that we can see "potential" in people; we minimize flaws and magnify positives, often at the cost of the accuracy of our memory. The manipulating type thrives in such an environment. Dearest bacteria, friends are what you have to be afraid of: they don't forgive, and they especially don't forget.

Sometimes only they are the ones capable of assessing a situation or, more aggressively, taking you out of it. Though they are often the worst enemy of our hedonist drives, our pleasure-seeking stems, at the end of the day what is good for us is not always what is convenient. Or texting you at 3am.

Often a thankless job, the friends may be the ones taking the phone out of your hand or at the very least, giving you damn good reason to put it down yourself.
Capable of being the most resilient force-field against the effects of Mr. dopamine and his friend "the douche-bag," the friend group is the disillusion task force - your karma dollars at work.

And let there never be a day when you find yourself broke.