The Inadvertent Cruelty of True Love

Everyone acts irrationally when they fall in love. It's there in the actual phraseology - 'fall', as in to descend, 'in love', like that's a quagmire from which we will struggle to remove ourselves.

I've been there myself and it's an emotion so sweetly all-encompassing, that resisting it isn't an option.

I recall sitting in a passenger seat once, watching my then-boyfriend driving. I was fixated on a tiny area where his jaw hollowed at his neck. I remember dreamily thinking how much I loved that spot.

In reality, I was infatuated with all of him!  But that feeling was so over-whelming, so utterly everything, that I couldn't cope with it all at once. I focused on that bit of jawline, because it was small enough to comprehend.

It wasn't really my fault. Those early, heady days of romance had released two major chemicals into my blood-stream - serotonin and oxytocin.

LSD contains molecules which mimic the former. It's what causes hippies to stare endlessly at pretty pictures or the wallpaper.

Drugs like Ecstasy go even further. They trigger a release of your body's natural source of serotonin and allows it to swamp your senses. That's why those high on the drug are constantly gabbling that the world is too beautiful and they love everybody.

In the meantime, opiate ethanol and cocaine both work to imitate the natural effects of oxytocin. MDMA, which is widely used in amphetamines and ecstasy, forces your body to produce more oxytocin.

So I was staring at his jawline, because I was literally high. My own brain had flooded my sensibilities in such a way that I was, to all intents and purposes, simultaneously high on LSD, ecstasy, amphetamine, cocaine and  heroin. How can anyone expect rationality through that?

This does not happen when you're talking to your Mum, your best friend or the dog. Nobody expects it to. We wouldn't be able to live our lives, if we were in such a consistent state of intoxication every time that we experienced love.

It only happens with those whom we find sexually attractive, wherein lies the clue as to why it occurs. The swooshing of chemicals is simply a part of a biological imperative to facilitate the survival of our species. It makes us more willing to even contemplate conceiving and raising children.

Yet the sheer wonder of the feeling moves us to declare that this is 'true' love. It doesn't matter that personal history and experience begs to disagree. From the unconditional caring of family through to the shared adventures and support of our friends, rationality would point to much greater examples of love.

But romantic attraction isn't rational. It's not sustainable in the long term, for precisely the same reasons as taking LSD every day for a year isn't a good idea. It doesn't have to be, as that intensity of feeling was only designed to last long enough for procreation to take place.

For the family, friends and everyone else side-lined by the tunnel vision it produces, it's a period when interacting with the drunk individual is fraught with inadvertent cruelties and rejection. The love-sick only want the person who can make them feel so high.

The plans had been made weeks before. My friend and I were going to do something for New Year's Eve.

Initially it was to fly to Budapest and explore the candle-lit catacombs, but a cash-flow problem shelved that idea. Instead, we would travel closer to home or celebrate quietly in his front room.

Now there was a second factor. He had fallen in love. I spoke to him shortly before we were due to meet to see what he wanted me to bring. He gasped, "But I'm going out with my boyfriend!"

It was said so virulently, so violently, that I immediately backed away. I was shocked, but I was blaming myself. I should have seen this coming! Though, in my defense, the romance was only a few days old.

He softened, though there was still a note of censure, "I can't even remember saying I'd come out with you."  My memory flashed through Hungarian brochures and the resigned sigh, as we realized we weren't going. "Are you sure we did?"

I'd already lost. The whole weight of societal expectation was against me. No-one was going to support my feelings of rejection. It was a mere friendship against the enormity of romantic love. I have been here a dozen times or more with various people over the years.

Starting a relationship seems to bestow a license for behavior that would be deemed unacceptable in any other context. All bets are off. Long-standing arrangements, such as meeting up on a certain night every week or holidaying together, should be cancelled until further notice. Close friends are suddenly only in your presence under duress. They are not with you in mind or spirit. Their conversation is totally encapsulated in their sweetheart. There is no room in this scenario to hear about your concerns, your day, your issues.

Friends are there beforehand; and they will be the ones expected to pick up the pieces, should the romance all go wrong. In the meantime, they have to accept that, through no choice of their own, their whole lives have to change. There is a gap, which was once filled by the individual now in love. The result is a kind of mourning, yet it is a grief with sharper edges than usual.

They have to survive it vilified or in silence. Their friend's world view is now so restricted to thoughts and cravings for their lover, that nothing else remains. Prior conversations are lost to the ether. Attempting to remind them of anything pre-partner will elicit accusations of lying, misunderstanding, misconstruing what was really meant. In a very real way, it's the desperate tunnel vision of an addict securing their next fix.

Yet, unlike those reaching for heroin, this behavior is aided and abetted by cultural consent. Other friends might sympathize, family members might make the appropriate noises of consolation, but no-one will openly condemn the person falling in love. It's too cute. It's the natural way of the world. Expressing feelings of rejection or loss will merely hallmark you out as a child who doesn't understand these things.

There's only one permissible route to take, when confronted by the petty cruelties of those in love. That is to back away as quickly and politely as possible, then wait it out. The chemicals swilling through their bodies cannot last more than a year, before it levels out into a more sustainable emotion. Then they will be able to see again. Then they will be able to include others into their lives.

I swallowed my pride with my friend on the 'phone. I think I muttered something noncommittal like, "Yeah, maybe I did get it wrong."  Then extricated myself from the conversation as quickly as possible.

I called my sister-in-law and asked if I could tag along with her party instead. She was confused and asked what had happened to my previous plans. "Oh! He's got Falling-in-Love-itis."  I didn't have to say a single word in explanation. She grasped the whole situation simply from that.

So did everyone else. I never mentioned it again, because I learned my lessons well on that one, when I was just a child. But my sister-in-law was amused by the name that I'd given to the syndrome and shared it with those at the party. The sympathy came in little looks, brief smiles, the occasional gesture and hug, as well as the free drinks with a wink.

As long as the sharp end of the cruelties can be suffered in silence, then true love can be allowed to run its course. This love being, of course, the willingness to step back, forgive and be there to provide the shoulder to cry on, should the romance fall apart.

After Mark is orphaned, he goes to live with the family of his best friend, Byron. For years the two boys are inseparable, but then Byron gets a girlfriend.

Byron ejects Mark from his life, which has a profound psychological effect on his rejected friend. It is a highly emotional, tense drama, with a disastrous conclusion.

The book and the film each place a slightly different emphasis on what occurs.

S.E. Hinton successfully steers us through a narrative, which tells a story without apportioning blame.The nuances of every relationship (romantic, family or friend) are equally explored.

Emilio Estevez's film screenplay is more overtly sympathetic to Byron, while producing a truly heart-breaking Mark.