I just watched PBS Masterpiece Wuthering Heights– a story about love but more specifically –sick love. About the disease which when love is left unchecked– inevitably causes. Set in 1800 London, Bronte wrote a fiction about how two children being raised together as siblings but coming from different sides of the track—both searching for love –find it in the others’ lost part. They cannot live without possessing the otther…not necessarily a winning connection this.
Codependency reigns victorious over unbridled love. We could say, they were kids …they didn’t know any better– what’s the modern day excuse? Wuthering Heights was a psychoanalysis story, not a love story. Statistics show that when people in search of love ignore the Wuthering heights wee little voice in them –it leads directly to divorce court or worse. The voice that says….” hey, since you don’t love you enough maybe this guy or this girl can love you for the both, right?” Wrong—dead wrong!
If Cathy or Heathcliff would have consulted a therapist on their lunch break– they would have gotten the same advice as today. You have to love yourself first. Its not selfish– its essential or don’t bother apprehending a lover to do it for you.