The Roller Coaster

Have you ever been on a roller coaster of love?

The kind with euphoric highs

and crushing lows.

The kind that leaves you breathless one minute

and unsteady, wanting, and alone the next.

You question yourself.

You tell yourself it will turn around.

And then it does.

Up, up, up you go —

into the sky of connection and closeness and intimacy.

The laughter.

The warmth.

The feeling of being chosen.

And just when you relax into it—

it drops.

Hard.

Back into the hoping.

Back into the wondering what you did wrong.

Back into comparing yourself to ghosts.

Back into the waiting for the next climb.

I’ve ridden that roller coaster.

More than once.

When I was involved with a married man,

I learned to recognize the pattern.

The hot and cold.

The distance and the rush back in.

The way unpredictability can feel intoxicating.

Because that’s what it is.

An addiction.

Not to the person.

To the cycle.

But it feels like love.

Hot-and-cold behavior activates the same brain chemistry as slot machines.

Intermittent reinforcement.

Unpredictable reward.

Dopamine and oxytocin spikes that wire you to chase the next high.

Some of us — including me — are more susceptible to that cycle.

Not because we’re weak.

Because we love deeply.

Because we attach intensely.

Because when it’s good, it feels extraordinary.

So when that same roller coaster started appearing in my last relationship,

I knew what I was looking at.

I could name it.

I knew I didn’t want to be on it.

I even talked with him about it.

But knowing what it is

and knowing how to get off

are two very different things.

I stayed much longer than I wish I had.

And then the ride ended in a way I never would have chosen.

The car caught fire.

Exploded.

Flew off the tracks.

All at once.

There was no gentle exit.

No slow easing to a stop.

Just impact.

And clarity.

Since then, I’ve made a very intentional — and very difficult — choice.

Not to step back on.

Not because I don’t miss the highs.

Not because I don’t remember the euphoria.

But because I finally understand the cost.

I don’t want adrenaline.

I don’t want volatility masquerading as love.

I want authenticity, vulnerability, integrity, and depth.

The ride didn’t end gently.

It ended in flames.

And once I saw the wreckage up close,

I will never again romanticize the climb.

I don’t hate the roller coaster.

I just see it clearly.

And I stay far, far away.