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Jan. 4th, 2002 07:13 pmAbout a year ago, I read a newspaper article that talked about the biochemical brain reaction of love. This was potentially a quantifiable measure of how much love a person felt. Apparently, when viewing a love object, certain parts of a person's brain would "light up" on whatever machinery they were using to measure.
There was one little paragraph at the end that froze me completely. It stated that some small number of the test subjects had no biochemical reaction whatsoever, and that this led the researchers to hypothesize that perhaps there were people who are incapable of love. They simply aren't wired that way. It froze me because I instantly recognized myself.
I dismissed it, telling myself that it was a stupid excuse, and if I used that thought as a crutch, then I really was pathetic. But it's stayed with me. I can't forget it, and I can't shake the belief that it's true. Especially when I look at Widget. I'm her mother, I'm supposed to love her, and really, all I can dredge up is some passing interest, and an occasional "gee, she's cute". If nothing else could convince me of the possible truth, it's that.
I cry at sad books and movies, and most of it is not because I feel what the characters feel, but because I so desperately want to feel the way they do. All I feel is flat, and cold, and empty. The only real emotion I feel any more is anger. I doubt more and more often that I've really ever felt love - the closest I come is what I think love is, but I'm skeptical that it's the same thing. I certainly don't know what it means to him when he tells me he loves me.
He told me today that he was driven to do what he did because we've been drifting apart for a long time, and I no longer let him in. He still doesn't realize that there is no in, and he wouldn't be happy there if there was.
There was one little paragraph at the end that froze me completely. It stated that some small number of the test subjects had no biochemical reaction whatsoever, and that this led the researchers to hypothesize that perhaps there were people who are incapable of love. They simply aren't wired that way. It froze me because I instantly recognized myself.
I dismissed it, telling myself that it was a stupid excuse, and if I used that thought as a crutch, then I really was pathetic. But it's stayed with me. I can't forget it, and I can't shake the belief that it's true. Especially when I look at Widget. I'm her mother, I'm supposed to love her, and really, all I can dredge up is some passing interest, and an occasional "gee, she's cute". If nothing else could convince me of the possible truth, it's that.
I cry at sad books and movies, and most of it is not because I feel what the characters feel, but because I so desperately want to feel the way they do. All I feel is flat, and cold, and empty. The only real emotion I feel any more is anger. I doubt more and more often that I've really ever felt love - the closest I come is what I think love is, but I'm skeptical that it's the same thing. I certainly don't know what it means to him when he tells me he loves me.
He told me today that he was driven to do what he did because we've been drifting apart for a long time, and I no longer let him in. He still doesn't realize that there is no in, and he wouldn't be happy there if there was.
