Imagine, for a moment, that you're not alone. Imagine that someone very special has found you, and you've decided to be
in love. Decided. This was a voluntary choice. You decided to go out for
coffee;
walks in the park. You chose to get to know them better, to learn and overlook their
flaws. You've decided to love them, for every tiny detail of their lives.
Imagine waking up next to them one morning and realising that its all a lie. A lie to yourself mainly, because your other one knows the truth, and has chosen to overlook it. Imagine discovering that you're not happy.
What do you do? What can you do?
You can shed this life you've worked so hard to build, leave it behind like so many used condoms. Or, you can tell yourself that it's just a bad day, week, year. You can convince yourself each morning that you're indeed happy. You can take pills to keep your mind distracted from the real problem: the real problem that you're too afraid to throw away what you have in search of something better. What if this is your best chance at happiness? You're too afraid to risk it all to be happy. You're afraid of what you might discover along the way.
So which is worse?
Being alone,
or being only somewhat happy?
postscript, several years later...I think I am happy just being