On being a dumbshit

I've read many things, especially on Friendster profiles, about pain being a part of love. I do admit, stupidly, that I used to hold that as my soul truth. But that's really not true at all. Love doesn't have to hurt for it to be real. There's no official documentation that states loves causes pain and death and eternal mental anguish. Love is pain and pain is love is some poet's distorted way of saying "I know I'm a dumbshit for staying with this person, but I'm gonna do it anyway." I should know. I was once that dumbshit. And if you think I'm saying all of this now because I think my Francis is the most perfect man in the world, well he is- haha. Die of envy, for all I care.

Seriously, though. Of course Francis is not perfect. No man is. We have our moments when we're two inches away from strangling each other. Sometimes we argue about everything. But, see, it doesn't hurt to love him. I don't walk around with my head between my legs wondering what I got myself into. I don't put up with bullshit, either. Love, when you have it, is freedom. I know, coming from me, that's puke-worthy, but here's the truth:

You can be yourself freely with someone when you can shake your bonbon during commercials, pop gas in the middle of an intimate conversation, laugh like a moron on Valentine's day at the beach while the sun is setting, say the funniest thing in the middle of a heated argument, sing so off-key your dog starts howling, and, at the end of the day, you know that person will still be there, ready to share the next moment with you.

Love is a choice. It's a choice of all sorts. You choose what you do when you love, you choose the way you behave when you love, you choose to let the person you love treat you the way they do. If you sit there and pine and hurt and cry, that is your choice. Sometimes, it's a good choice because crying and hurting are okay. Though, when you've been sitting there in the same corner not having seen the light of day for the past couple of years, you don't have love, you have mentally insane tattooed on your forehead. If your friends buy you a straightjacket for Christmas, it's time for you to pick your ass up and move on.

I'm not a dumbshit anymore. On the contrary, I think the smartest thing I've done is listen to my instincts. My head is where it should be (no where close to a wall to bang on), my heart is whole, I smile more, I'm comfortable with who I am and confident of who I can be. I look forward to going home. I don't dread tomorrow.

I'm in love and it doesn't hurt.