Junkie Romance

There are three kinds of romance in the world:

50's Pop Song Romance: This type of romance doesn't exist anymore. It consists of holding hands, exchanging class rings (or whatever the adult equivalent would be; watches, maybe?) and waiting until marriage before having the sex. Seriously, who has time for that? Sure, it's nice to hear Buddy Holly sing about being true to Peggy Sue but, really, we all know that Peggy Sue's going to end up breaking Buddy's heart and they'll both end up settling for people they don't really love but who are better than an empty side of the bed.

Modern Romance: We're all familiar with this. It's what we do now. Dinners, movies, staying in, going out, sex distinctly before marriage, etc. etc. Hopefully we've all either got this now or have had it recently enough in the past to where further explanation is unnecessary.

And finally...

Junkie Romance: As in, the romance shared between two junkies. We're talking shared needles, tying each other off, helping each other through withdrawals... the works. It sounds unbelievably skeezy, but think about; it so isn't. You're scaling together the heights of chemically-induced euphoria, hand in hand (or at least while lying together on a dirty mattress), and then you're experiencing the worst feelings a body can feel without dismemberment and you're doing it as a team. As a couple.

The reason I bring this up is because Girlfriend and I yesterday, while wallowing in our own respective lousinesses, watched the recent Australian film Candy, which is one of the best representations of Junkie Romance I've ever seen. This is not to say that it was a good movie; it really wasn't. The second half kind of meanders and it was very, for lack of a better word, "actor-y," but still... as far as examples of the Junkie Romance concept goes, it's second to none. In fact, the movie made such a case for the idea of being in love with a loaded bloodstream, Girlfriend and I were sort of bummed that we were not currently living in squalor, cooking up our lives in teaspoons and talking each other through "the shakes."

Not that we'd really, actually want to give up our current lives for that of the heroin addict. For one thing, I'm a total wimp about pain so I'd probably not be cool with all the needles. Not to mention the fact that withdrawals really seem like a bitch; I get super-morose and whiny when I have a hangover (see: this), so I don't think I'd handle the full-body crunch that happens when you try to get off the junk. Another issue would be the money. Girlfriend's one of those people that's ridiculously good with the financial side of life, to the point where she gets a little thrill every time she makes a credit card payment. This is not a mentality that could handle dropping a few hundred dollars on a powder to be shot into your arm as quickly as possible. Oh, and there's the whole morally repugnant, scourge-of-society, wasted life thing too.

Still... the allure is there. It's the same allure that comes with watching Leaving Las Vegas or listening to the music of Tom Waits. What a relationship lacks in sobriety, it makes up in fiery passions and a deep, richness of emotion. Of course, you'll both be ruined and probably killed by the addiction that draw you together. But that's the best, most romantic part, right? Dying together like a strung out Romeo and Juliet?

Well, no. Of course not. That's the kind of tragic that only plays in the movies. In the end, Girlfriend and I will stick to the romance we've got now; the one made up of take-out Chinese and Netflix and snuggles on Sunday mornings.

It's not heroin, but it works for us.

Though if anyone out there is a junkie in love and feels like sharing, please do. Clearly the stories are damn entertaining and we can always use some more. But... um... you know, drugs are bad. So don't do them (but if you already do, then tell the world!)