The Many Saints of 'Love-Believing' Syndrome

In 1992, Jon Galinsky, a New-York Times senior editor received an anonymous opinion piece about an article they'd written a month past, about a Fox News anchor who'd been caught on camera raping his supervisor's wife.

The piece was titled: "The Many Saints of Love Believing Syndrome", a reverse psychology articulation meant to acknowledge that love believers are secretly monsters.

In the article, the author dived deep into the many reasons rape and other crimes against humankind including "making women laugh" existed. He'd quote Charles Bukowski, put in a "Sopranos" reference, a link to a research paper from a British college in Essex and many bible verses. And at the very heart of the article, the anonymous author had described 'love' to be the root cause of it all. He'd state that much of man's actions were results of the desire for love, the fear of love, the need for love or unflinchingly, the lack thereof.

Jon got hooked on this piece. The more he'd read, the more he'd be amazed at how much his writers were so immaculate to even come up with such a precarious point of view.

However, close to the end, our mysterious wordsmith puked the elephant in the room. Not spilt, puked. Jon almost suffocated on his coffee at the insurgence of the tiding he'd just read.

The end would go on like this: "Fuck whoever invented love, fuck whoever started using it, fuck whoever believed in love to later pass it on to the next generations who would, in turn, be addicts and conductors of such a horror. And finally, fuck me for being so helpless at the beauty of Beatrice that I couldn't wait to fuck her in someplace safe."

The opinion piece as it turned out was sent by the Fox news anchor while in jail, and Beatrice was the wife he'd raped. Jon sat back to really engulf the thousand-word confession he'd just spent 10 minutes reading. The truths in it, the formidable word structure, and the fact that this could be worldwide news with just a click.

He struggled at the fact that maybe what the news anchor had said about love was true, that in the midst of what people have made love look like in songs, poems, and movies was merely an obstruction of justice to the people of the world, and that they would be better off without this abomination.

He sat on his thoughts for the whole day and eventually invoked an internal meeting with the rest of the writers to discuss the matter. Is this worth publishing? Was the Fox anchor correct? If so, does that makeup for what he did?

It became such a dilemma that they planned on having a seminar to peruse further if love is such a gullible thing for the equanimities that serve as principles of the world's population.

But to much of their surprise, the Fox news anchor whom I didn't want to disclose thy name, for there's no need to mention him out, committed suicide after being repeatedly raped.

The article never saw the light of day.

...

Alright, here's a deal. I've realized recently that there's something flawed inside of me, the very comprehension of what it means to be loved and to love. I'm not stupid unless you believe my high school biology teacher, then I am. But ultimately, when it comes to loving people, I do what I can to show them I've fallen madly. And despite those feelings being real, often, it is more than just one girl in my mind.

They might share a lot of the same qualities, but what drives me to them always is the fact that somehow, they give a fuck about me.

It's a flaw, I know. I might meet a girl today that I'd remotely end up desiring every part of them. Then the next week, the same would happen with another girl whilst holding on to the former.

I know for a fact that maybe all these feelings I call love are just mild obsessions, lust or an overstatement that I don't know what love is. So, when I discovered the Fox News Anchor story, it dawned on me that I--and this not limited to me only--have been pursuing love all my life, and it has been--with a disclaimer--my reason to do a lot of things.

There are more than a hundred different types of love in this world. There is parental adoration, communion love, fan love, ride or die passion, friends fondness, siblings love, dog/cat love, and of course, boy meets girl love. And as someone who hasn't been in a relationship, nor has had a dog, I can firmly say I haven't experienced half of the kinds of love that exist.

You're probably wondering, who is this guy? Who has not been in a relationship living in Kigali? And to answer your question, you ought to look at things from my perspective.

In the many types of love that exist, we pour our focus on the kind that involves sexual positions and cuddles first. And for that kind of love, we would do anything. We would fight the serenities of Twitter trying to convince us love is a scam, relationships have cheating boats on the side, marriage is a total buttworth and having kids is like defining a billboard to a blind person.

And even though we might not agree to this entirely, hell, even spite whoever brings it up, we chug on this wish that we can have a person who holds our hand tight in the street, give us shivers at night, and have many romantic dates together. But, it's the dream the majority of pulpits haven't seen realized yet.

Even so, there is no articulation showing that this kind of love or any other would be the cause of crimes or danger.

Love has, in its fancy, been an inspiration for generations of songs and poems, the birth of timidness and shyness, occasionally the reason for the many erections on our part, but ultimately, the biggest cliche of storylines most movies have pitched us over the decades.

And though sometimes I somber on just walking this life alone to avoid heartbreaks, or choose to be a hoe, because well, sex is splendiferous. I find myself often pushing through these obstacles because, for some reason, I believe I deserve someone for only me.

And it's not a question of "the one" or destiny. It's simply this disease inside of me that has been dictating most of my actions. Whether it is the fear of it, fascination, desire, or lack of its light, love has been behind them all. And if you think about it deeply, it has been riding you too.

A lot of us are sick of love because it disappoints us regularly. We try to conquer someone's heart, they push us away, we play down someone else's feelings, and we don't get whoever else we craved.

But a lot of us as well are lovesick. Since it's all we ever think about and our only reason to live, with the latter being worse, of course. It's like that Netflix show "YOU" where Joe roams the world with his books and a killing box to find love. Believing that in the many adventures he passes through, he has to shape them into 'forever' material, which is simply a misdemeanour.

*sigh*

Love is everything to me. I want to take risks and ask one of the girls I have been talking with to get in a relationship with me. It might be a burden for them to realize that I'm actually not what meets the eye. But I'd make it worth their while. It'd be adventurous and full of care and surprises and... who am I kidding? It'd be full of sex, tons of it. But with the moral understanding that after sex, I'd hold her tight and make sure our life is a delight.

But even though I want to surpass this flair of lusting and secretly desiring many women at once, I can't help but ponder over some questions like, Would it be easier if any of these girls would decide I'm worthy of their love to call me their boyfriend? Yes. Would it be all I ever wanted? Or would it just feed my ego? Probably the latter.

But the ultimate question I kept coming back to was, would I reach the level of the Fox News Anchor raping session justifying myself that love was the reason behind it all?

And when I thought of this, I understood that I haven't really been honest with myself, that deep down I was a fraud telling himself he's incredibly in love, but with a lot of girls, that is. Something that wasn't supposed to be.

And I don't know how to fight it.

Jon, the New-York times editor, before retirement, finally wrote a think piece after all most 30 years through the death of the News Anchor. He'd note that understanding the reasons behind our actions will be an ongoing dilemma as far as they exist.

"Some people will be addicted to love, others restraint against it, some will believe it is the cause root of man's kind rigid actions, others will believe that it's just part of the roots. Either way, as Frank Sinatra wrote, you'll reach a star because there are such things as stars."

Ending today's session into my life, I hope you don't torment yourself with this. It's love! Believe in it or don't, who's to say there are not bigger things than it, or who's to say that life should only be centered on it. I only ask that you don't let it become a disease.

Anyways, If I've ever sent you heart emojis in our texts, would you please consider dating me? Alright bye.

Bloopers:

"Being shy, I can't seem to be able to ask the question "Would you be my girlfriend?" Principally because I don't know what they do in relationships other than making love, fucking, going out a lot, talking through some deep stuff and fucking again.

Or maybe, that's all there is to it, and I've been obsessing over being more to it. I honestly hope there is."