What a twat...........

What is there to celebrate?

The history of mankind is flooded with literature, films, songs and poems all celebrating that mental fucking illness they call love.

We are fascinated with it, we search for it, seeking just a small piece of it where we can as if it were a good thing. Like as if without it existence is meaningless.

 Wrong.

Love is a perfid disease I would not wish on my worst enemy.

Logically it makes about as much sense as believing in God, Santa or that the world will end on a certain date in 2013.

In fact it instills the sufferer with the same sense of impending doom as one awaiting execution.

The Physical symptoms are appalling; like the much feared Ebola virus it turns your organs to mush. The stomach closes almost entirely and starts to feel like a dying fish is flip flapping within, desperately fighting for its last breath, agonising its way out of existence.

Forget food, your capacity for hunger has not only disappeared but has been replaced with an aversion to sustenance designed only to exacerbate your decline.

 The heart, the organ so commonly associated with all that is good in humanity, is under so much strain a marathon runner would seemed relaxed in comparison and for those suffering from existing medical conditions this could almost certainly spell the end.

People die as a direct result of "love" all the time, in fiction and in real life examples can be cited back as far as the bible.

There is no cure.

I have found, to my personal distress it can have an incubation period of a whole decade and probably more.

It might even last a lifetime, like someone once infected with malaria. (For my sake I hope this to be inaccurate)

It can defy medical science and cause instant ovulation despite pharmaceuticals and surgical implants.

The impact on your mental wellbeing is similar to that found in torture victims. Permanent anxiety, depression, anger with oneself for being such a dick, paranoia, sleeplessness, tearfulness and a whole array of inexplicable mood swings are the delightful experiences felt by our poets and singers.

 All of this caused by a mere illusion?

What happened to "Cogito ergo sum", one could say in fact that you cease to exist on this basis and are therefore brain dead.

 You can be the most logical person in the world and still be at risk and this is because you are programmed by your own mutinous DNA to behave this way to ensure its survival.

 Ah there's the rub, it cannot ever be totally cured without destroying the very building blocks that allow you to exist at all. So what to do?

It takes self-discipline and fortitude, you need to recognise the symptoms at the earliest onset and sever all ties with the catalyst of your malady.

 Even a guilty text message can be the spark that fans the flames of your eternal damnation.

Like an alcoholic that has a small Whiskey after years of abstinence you can succumb all over again just because in your arrogance you thought yourself safe.

 Basically reader I am telling you to run, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction like you were Forrest Gump with a stick of dynamite up your ass... Get the hell out of there! DO IT NOW....

The next part is easier, all you have to do is hide. Do it for a long time and until life becomes gradually more bearable, you will feel it happening as you starve the illness of its life source, its nourishment.

If you survive all that then you have successfully beaten the cold turkey of love and hopefully better armed for the next time. But like chicken pox you should (in theory) develop some immunity although this is far from infallible.

There are lot's of things you can do to help yourself, work is a good one, you cannot allow yourself to appear weak there and it keeps you busy.

 A string of meaningless sexual partners are also a good distraction but you do risk making someone love you, which is a guilt ridden emotional burden that they think nothing of placing on you.

I turn to science, Richard Dawkins and writing. The latter because the contempt I have for myself prohibits me discussing it in any profundity with anyone. I mean for God sake get a fucking grip Vikki.

So there you have it, Vikki's guide to surviving the pit falls of that hellish affliction widely understood to be love.

 You will all ignore it because human beings are suckers but like any friend I've given my best advice.

I will try to follow it myself and if I'm happy next year then all's good. In the meantime I hope my lack of appetite at least serves to help me lose weight.

What a twat, sigh........