Relationships.

Warning: this is the most personal of all blog entries thus far, like a disgusting diary entry of a heartsick fifteen year-old, and therefore this - or parts of this - may be deleted later.

Specifically, I'm thinking about relationships of a romantic nature; a lot of hard work, and generally they either make your heart soar or make it hurt, there's rarely an in-between.

Just to give a bit of perspective on this entry: currently, my heart hurts. Although I am gutted, I am able to recognize that feeling this way is a conscious decision that I am making - to sit here: text messaging into a black hole of non-replies, drinking, wallowing, and chain smoking = all MY decision, whether I enjoy it or not.

But the question is this: are these behaviours constructive in any way? To ignore one's instinct to self-preserve and endure is, from a certain perspective, one of the most inhumane propositions - and yet it also seems to be perhaps the most distinctly human of conditions, particularly to us humans who find ourselves in relationships (or what can be theoretically quantified as such).

Because really, what is a relationship to begin with? Do we not have 'relationships' with virtually everyone we encounter? For example, it's obvious that my relationship with my regular baristas is far more superficial and extraneous than my relationship with my brother, but it is difficult to say that one relationship qualifies to be called such and the other does not (particularly considering I now see the regular baristas far more than my own brother).

The point is this: the only relationships which seem to cause people true anguish are those that they are the most emotionally invested in. WHY do humans have this inarguable instinct towards feeling this anguish? When we emotionally invest ourselves in something (or, more damningly, someone), we know, either consciously or subconsciously, that to do so is to virtually guarantee that that horrible feeling in the chest will occur at some point or another. But we continue to do so, continue to breathe, continue to self-destruct, continue to recover, and continue to repeat, all the while knowing the hatred of that pain and knowing of its complete inevitability.

All the while, we do not choose to listen to that instinct for preservation - well, maybe some of us do, but they're technically called sociopaths I believe. How simple it would be to maintain those superficial relationships with coffee shops employees and co-workers! In those one cannot feel the gut-wrenching, headache-inducing fervour that only comes with absolute closeness and emotional intimacy with another human being. But those elusive, fantastic moments which the closeness also brings are difficult to reconcile against this and to turn one's back upon, and for that very reason it's impossibly difficult to not strive for that which makes your heart soar...even if it hurts at the same time.

What a fucking messy, lovely, hateful and glorious predicament we are in as a species. If there is anything that unifies the human race (and I'm still not sure that there is), could this be it?