Her Love Is A Kind — Of Charity Cracked ~upd~

He had been broken long before he met her. He came with a history of sharp edges, of sudden silences, of a temper that flared and died like a match in the wind. Most women had looked at him, seen the warning signs—the instability, the baggage—and walked away. That was the rational thing to do. It was self-preservation.

The love was cracked from the start. The crack only widens with time.

The crack lets light in. It lets air in. It lets the truth circulate. her love is a kind of charity cracked

The trouble started when Eliot got better.

This is not the God of classical theism. This is a broken God. A suffering God. A God who, like the cracked pot in the Zen story, holds water only halfway to the well. He had been broken long before he met her

There is an older slang meaning of "cracked" as crazy or absurd. In this reading, her love is charitable, but the very idea is slightly mad. Who loves like that anymore? Who gives without counting the cost? In a cynical world, such love seems cracked in the head—beautifully, tragically insane.

The sick partner feels it. Every meal prepared, every doctor’s appointment driven to, every forced smile is a reminder: You are a burden. She is here because she is good, not because she wants to be. That is the sound of the crack widening. That was the rational thing to do

A person who needs charity is unlikely to leave. By keeping you dependent on her emotional handouts, she creates a twisted form of security. She convinces herself that you need her too much to ever abandon her.

If you have ever felt a sinking sensation when your partner says, "I just want to fix you," or "You need me," you have felt charitable love. It feels warm at first, because who doesn’t want to be saved? But slowly, the warmth curdles into shame. You realize you are not loved for who you are. You are loved because of what is wrong with you. Your wound is the attraction. Your dysfunction is the glue.