I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, or at least any kind that was requited. This includes platonic love. I’ve always attributed this to me not yet having been in the right environment to meet the type of people that would satisfy a mutual loving relationship (i.e. at the right school), but who knows if that’s the real reason. I’ve never had a Valentine or shared a New Years kiss. I don’t know how I feel about this. I’ve read that people who are intelligent tend to have trouble with love, and I think I certainly fall in that camp. I just don’t really care and there’s just always so much else seemingly more important to me for me to focus on.
Yet, love is not unimportant. Since developing bipolar in my early twenties, I’ve felt a sort of emptiness that I can’t seem to shake off. It’s really been cutting into my productivity and overall general health. I’ve spent the past decade or so searching for my other half without any luck and who knows what the future will hold. My parents, who I think are truly in love once told me that not everyone finds love in their lifetime. I think that’s a very pessimistic thing to say to someone in my situation, but it’s a reality check. Love, as I’ve come to learn, is undeniably important. It is our oxygen and a vital component of health. Love is an essential nutrient, and I don’t know how much longer I can persist without it.
The Ivory Tower 
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