Eros: I Like the High

Eros, for those of you who don’t know, is one of four types of love, the others being Agape, an unconditional love, Phileo, a friendship like love, and Storge, a family like love. Eros, I feel, is the most exciting. Eros is the young, fiery, emotional, epic, lustful, stupid, exhilarating love. I’ve been there many, many, times. It’s like my favorite emotional vacation spot or something, I don’t know.

I didn’t know Eros was a drug until I experience the crash of my lifetime. Extremely long story bland and short; I fell in love with a boy who cheated on me. That statement is a logical one. If I can only put into words how much in love I was with this man. I would do… Did do anything for him. I put him before all. Ruined relationships that could have helped me be stress free and happy in the long run. I would have been his cash cow. If I would have had the opportunity to make it in the music business, I would have said “Take him first! I can’t go without him. I know he’d get me a way in anyhow.” It was so serious, on my end, that is. Meanwhile, he was harboring the guilt of infidelity and he didn't say a word about it for a year and a half which is a substantial amount of time in my short little life. It was my longest relationship… and it was a lie.


I didn't want to love again, in any form. I didn't want to feel that crash ever. Again. The crash was a prolonged state of depression. It was easy to perform this task since, after he left me with the apartment with someone I didn't even really like (my roommate), I could easily just be a hermit in my bedroom only leaving to get another 5 frozen bottles of water and a bowl of ramen. I didn't go to class. I didn’t talk to people. I forgot what the sun was. All I wanted was the dark. The light was a lie. I hated him. The love was a lie. I wanted to die. The life I had envisioned to have with him… was a lie. Nothing he said was true to me anymore. Anything he said to me, I would believe the opposite. “I’m sorry” was “I meant it.” “You don’t deserve this” was “You walked into this.” “I still love you” was “I never loved you.” We were both writers, poets, lyricists, what have you, and all I could do besides cry was write. I wrote depressing poems, diss poems, bashing poems, put yo ass on blast poems, and a whole music album. 12 tracks. And he… he wrote nothing. Which made me even more depressed because, after all this time together, you NEVER think of me?

Time was the only thing that healed that emotional wound. There was nothing I could do about it but bide and let it all ride.

After healing a bit, the addict in me used to want to go back. Do it all again. Just to feel that high! The way it was before I knew anything was wrong. The cuddling, and the random trips to random places, the laughs, the moments I could never ever forget, the kisses that brought biological fireworks… All of that.

And today, now that I am able to, I just get as much of Eros as I can get. The problem is, it’s never as satisfying as the first hit I had. That first Eros is pure and new and after the hurt of the crash, I kind of go into every match session anticipating the pain in the end. But today, I accept my fate. To risk loving though it may break my bones. To risk loving though I may become a hermit again, may not want to see the sun. To risk loving because of how it drips of our lips and tingles the tongue. To risk loving for the euphoric feeling in my abdomen that crescendos whenever I even see his name. The Eros overdose that causes me to regurgitate “I love you”s raining through my mind, my heart, and my mouth. But I have felt the crash, and I am anticipating it.


I’m telling the one I’m sharing this Eros with to be patient with me, as I attempt let go of the fear of the oh so apparent crash that awaits me and love you with all that I have.




See you soon.