Emotional Apoptosis

Love is a powerful emotion. We've all heard the stories about love conquering everything else, surviving through any number of obstacles, giving some a reason to even live. And -- throughout all of these stories -- it's our hearts that swell with anticipation, our pulse that quickens, blood running to our cheeks in a fevered flush. We all equate the emotion of love with our hearts; it's on our Valentine's Day cards, Anniversary cards, we draw it on love notes, we put pictures of loved ones in heart shaped frames and, when love burns you, you have a broken heart. When a loved one dies don't our hands immediately jump to our chests, covering our delicate heart from this onslaught of pain? During those intense "Break Up Conversations" isn't it our heart that flutters and stops with every surge of emotional conversation? And, of course, there's the ultimate pain from love: When your spouse dies, your lover, the one for whom you have forsaken all others dies, what feels as though it's been ripped from you? The emotion is so intense in that case, that even others speculate about it. I'm sure we've all heard the story: Boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl are together for 67 years, girl dies .... boy shortly follows. We all shake our heads, telling ourselves "He died of a broken heart" or "He just couldn't bear to go on without her." As a matter of fact, deep down, some of us even stand in awe of that kind of love ... a love so strong that it transcends all boundaries ... a love that not even death can separate. But our logical minds know this isn't a real reason. Some say it's the intense depression that comes crashing down that kills the surviving spouse off, the idea of spending the rest of their time alone. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

I need you to shift your attention for just a moment... I promise -- if you just bear with me -- this will all make sense ... well, hopefully.

Apoptosis is the process of cellular suicide. All of the cells in your body are programmed to kill themselves off should certain criteria be met; infection for example. It's an amazing process, really. See, all of your cells give off life-affirming signals to surrounding cells -- and they also take those signals in from surrounding cells. The best example of this process is the development of the fetus. As you more than likely know, when the fetus' hands are first formed, they are little more than hunks of flesh, with the webbing between what will become the fingers thick and fleshy; through apoptosis, the fingers are formed. The cells stop sending out those signals to the other cells, paring them down into their predefined shapes. Women experience apoptosis every month, by way of the sloughing off of the inner lining of the uterus at the start of menstruation. Apoptosis is a natural part of being alive ... it is indeed a necessary part. When cells become infected, its surrounding cells stop sending it those life affirming vibrations and the cell shrinks and develops small blister-like bumps on their surface. The cell eventually breaks down into membrane-wrapped fragments which are usually engulfed by nearby phagocytic cells, which are cells whose job it is to engulf fragmented cells wrapped in antibodies. Scientists have isolated cells and given them everything they need for survival, but the cells die within a few days without the positive messages from neighboring cells. The cells essentially die from isolation ... loneliness.

So now we know that cells are alive because they rely on the positive signals from other cells. So, then, how long before your cells begin to thrive on the impulses from cells outside your physical body. Women who live togteher know the reality of physical processes synching up based on other people since they often find their menstrual cycles synch up with the women they live with. And we already know that menstration is a result of apoptosis so, in a way, we know this is possible on a small scale. If one person lives with another for a long enough period of time, isn't it at least possible that all their cells could come to rely on another person? And couldn't that process become more pronounced and even more likely the older a person gets and the more degenerate their own bodies become? Think about it. The older a couple gets, the more time they tend to spend together. It's no small secret that humans give off magnetic impulses -- little throbs of energy. How long before those pulses come to affect your physical self. After all, they're giving off life-affirming signals to their own neighboring cells and, in turn, those signals are being radiated to the other. I know, I know, it sounds like a stretch but just think about it for a second. What if the physical reaction to grief caused by the death of a close family member, and especially of a spouse, is -- at least in part -- directly cause by your own cells' reactions to the loss of those signals?

It doesn't seem so science fiction, now does it?

So what if that's the reason behind that ache that catches you in the back of your throat, the empty hollow that feels like it's engulfing you? What if your body is having more than a physical reaction brought on from an emotion, such as depression? What if it's having an actual physical reaction directly caused by the loss of those other cells? It may sound implausible on the surface, but anyone who has felt that ragged ache, that physical pain that hits you even before the realization sinks in, before the word depression even flashes through your mind like a solar strobe light -- the pain hits first and fast, tearing the breath from your lungs and almost ripping through your skin.

Cells ... dying from loneliness. That instant when those other cells are no longer near yours, when the physical structure stops receiving support it has grown even semi-dependent on.

Scientific proof that love hurts.