Out of Love

I was just too naive and too arrogant to believe he would do it to me. We all think we’ll be different, don’t we?

So until next week, whatever your brain tells you – that you’re useless, that you’re broken, that you’re unfixable – just hear it, acknowledge it and try to let it pass. You are not broken just because your brain says so.’

Nadia tells me about another study they did where they put three groups of dogs in harnesses. Nothing happened to the first group, the second group received electric shocks that they could stop by pushing a lever, and the third group were shocked too, but they had no way of stopping it. Later, they put all the dogs in cages, which they could easily escape from, and administered electric shocks again. The first and second group just walked out, but the third lay down and took it.
‘They had learned that there was nothing they could do to stop the pain,’ says Nadia. ‘They believed they had no control, and so they allowed themselves to suffer. It’s called learned helplessness.’

Are you a banana?’ she asks.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Are you a banana?’ she asks again, with no hesitation and not a hint of a smile.
‘No,’ I say, ‘I am not a banana.’
‘Right,’ she says, ‘good. That’s good.’
She pauses a moment, as though deep in thought.
‘What if you thought you were a banana? Would that make you a banana?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘I would be a human who thinks she’s a banana.’
‘Okay, good to know,’ says Nadia, like I’ve just given her the answer to a puzzle that’s been bothering her for ages.
‘I’m not sure what the point is,’ I say, a little frustrated now.
‘Well, I’m just wondering, if your brain were to tell you all the time, rather loudly and emphatically, that you were a banana, would you be a banana then?’
And suddenly it clicks, and I smile and say, ‘No. Because thinking something doesn’t make it real.’

Crazy is the space between what they tell you and what you know is true

Their parents didn’t care because the kids were quiet and content. This, I’ve discovered, is the nirvana every parent seeks: a happy, quiet child.

decided to sort myself out. I found a new therapist and started seeing her every week, I took up yoga again, joined a book club and went out with friends more often. I said yes to every available writing job, no matter how big or small or ‘beneath me’ it seemed. I even worked for free for a while until finally, my writing started to pay the bills. I’m ashamed to admit that this new, can-do attitude was based entirely on a desire to make Theo love me again, but the outcome was that I now felt stronger and healthier and more sure that his problems existed with or without me.

I can’t figure out if the relationship is causing my depression or if my depression is causing problems in the relationship.

ventually, loving someone becomes muscle memory. You don’t even notice it happening. One day you realise you’ve stopped living together and started existing near to one another. The path you once walked side by side has become two paths, which twist and wind their way around each other, occasionally intersecting long enough for a conversation full of clunky exposition that reveals nothing about the characters. You ask what time the other will be home from work, what they fancy for dinner, if they’ve remembered so and so’s birthday tomorrow. They tell you about their day with no humour or anecdotes, just a list of events in chronological order. You cook for two, buy toilet roll for two, book train tickets, sign cards and RSVP for two. Your autopilot gets set to two.

Eventually, loving someone becomes muscle memory.