Subtraction

Is love a phenomenon?

This semester has started differently from any other semester on record. I arrived full of ambition, but with all things that change, my vigor -- no, my active participation in -- school has been partially eclipsed by something else.

Mind my disclaimer: due to my infested sinus cavities, my ability to cohere thoughts together in a nice, progressive, linear format is, uh, not there. Sorry if it takes more effort to connect my dots. It'll all make sense, I promise.



When two people give each other that hidden thing, that essential fragment of the self that binds the rest together, a big change occurs. Not in the birds singing, love-bubbles popping, hippie-dippy sort of feel-good crap that romantic novels portray, but in the "ah, so this is love" sort of way (the other stuff happens sometimes, too). It's a good thing, and this entry will not try to destabilize that blanket opinion that most of us as warm-blooded humans share.

However, I AM going to try to illustrate what happens when that union disintegrates. If you're happily coupled, stop reading; I don't want to be responsible for any stressful revelations.

Worlds unite when two people "fall in love." Bear with my cliches, please- they're cliche for a reason, and in this instance, "worlds uniting" is a very appropriate (albeit nauseating) metaphor. Worlds really do unite. Two people become so intrinsically connected, socially, economically, mentally, physically, etc, that their entire worlds are, essentially, combined whether one of the worlds cares to admit it or not.

People are social creatures. Thus, our significant others will likely bring more people into the general mix of things. Though math isn't my strongest suit, I'm fairly comfortable in using the broad generalization that when two nations are combined, the population rises exponentially. The same is true of two people coming together in a relationship. Yes, relationships come and go, and no, the end of a relationship isn't the end of all things, but if you consider my math, it could be mean a minor period of readjustment. Or a full-on civil war. Either way, something will happen when the status quo is jeopardized.

And jeopardized it was.

It's been a few months. Ok, it's been half a year. I've struggled, I've mourned, I've gone through my annoying depression, and I think I've made it out unscathed. Except for this weird... eclipse. This inky darkness that lurks around every SUNY Potsdam corner.

I'm not afraid of running into people (that's just an irritating fact of life). It's just the lingering... solitude that feels weird. After becoming used to having a strong network of supporting friends, not really having that backbone every day is strange. It isn't unmanageable (I'm strong, independent and intelligent... I'm strong, independent and intelligent... blah blah blah mantra), but it's there. I don't really know how else to describe it.

I guess it'd be logical to equate it to that subtraction. One big world minus half (or some may even say 75%) equals a smaller world. Remember the other part of that list of potential connections? It isn't just new friends (or, strangely enough, old friends!) that become part of the separation.

I suppose the moral of my story is:

When walking arm-in-arm with your partner across campus, take care to remember that he or she isn't really the other half of you. Your world doesn't have to be halved if that arm isn't a support system someday.

My favorite professor says, over and over again, that everything we do is a "teaching/learning experience."

I learned that loneliness isn't the biggest stressor that comes with the aftermath. It's the unfamiliar stoicism that creeps into everything when you have to relearn how to walk around without that arm.

Hopefully reading this taught you something. As an aside, writing it helped dust away some of the mucous-born fog. Another helpful tip: when you're sick, keep writing anyway. When you finally aren't coughing away your mental clarity, having hacked through it will keep your wits whet-stone sharp (oh hey, alliteration!).