Lovesick

Ooh la la. No confusion, no denying, as far back as I can remember, long before I understood my own mystique, I had an obsession with the opposite sex. It was in first grade while we read Fun With Dick And Jane and Run Sally Run when it hit me harder than an ice packed snowball. Please do not be alarmed. In theory, there was nothing nefarious about the profound, all consuming attraction I felt for the adorable little boy capturing my attention.  It would be hard for me to comprehend that my fellow classmates did not experience the same feeling. He was a sponge to water, a neodymium magnet. How would I know that my feelings were not the norm? Because I did not dare verbalize this feeling, whatever it was immobilizing me, stealing most of my attention, causing me when called upon, to read words with little to no comprehension. He was an identical twin, making him all the more alluring to me.  It was quite common for my teacher and my classmates to confuse the pair, but like the air I breathed, I knew who was who with a simple glance, even if his back was to me. I knew him; I knew who he was without him ever knowing my thoughts. My eyes could have bored holes in him and I was quite good at concealing my glare.

At some point when we got a bit older, he began to notice me.  He pulled my braids, knocked books off my desk and pushed me in the town pool and I loved every minute of it.  My obsession continued, if not for him, for yet another of the opposite sex. I could easily transfer my obsession to another boy, like trading MVP baseball cards, seamlessly, without a break in time. Something I look back at with shame.  I was lovesick. Literally. Again. And again. And again. And in replaying my history with the opposite sex, it wasn’t until I was many decades older that I realized I was a love addict (not to be confused with a sex addict). Some might think it’s not a thing.  For me it was a thing. And there was a reason it was a thing. Others reading this that were abused in their childhood homes will get it. So in that respect my very first attraction to the opposite sex was nefarious.

Having feelings for the opposite sex was my addiction, my drug of choice. With awareness and work, I changed my behavior. That being said, I apologize if I abused the opposite sex in the way an alcoholic abuses alcohol.  As a (somewhat) healthy adult, (a point open for debate) I now know how to appreciate a fine man, of which I know many, just the way a wine enthusiast knows how to appreciate a fine wine, without being held in the grips of addiction.