When I love, I love: wholly, thoroughly, completely, drowning in everything. Every glance can be a conversation, eyes just playing and saying what needs to be said. Silence is loud, and the air becomes heavy. I want you. I want all of you.
Love is my downfall, my weakness, my Achilles Heel. Falling in love is the most addictive sensation; it’s better than sex or control or food or drugs. It is my ultimate high. I chase New Relationship Energy (NRE) as my ideal vibrational frequency. I thrive on the early stages of intimacy; I’m addicted to vulnerability. But alas, I know that these feelings become hazier and muted over time. Perhaps that’s what sends me looking for a fix, I need that hot pulse of attraction and affection as much as I need the reliability of love built over time. I know now (thanks, Therapy!) that I attach quickly, I overlook red flags and I romanticize basically everything as a way of patching up and bandaging abuse and trauma from my formative years. These scars have made it incredibly hard to form an optimistic self identity and the dissociation and C-PTSD that plagues me plays like a shaky super-8 home movie in my mind, drowning me in such cinematic themes as “They’ll Never Love You Back” and “Stop Acting Like A Hopeless Teenager”. I hate myself for how much I want to be loved, especially because my life doesn’t lack love. Why do I need so much more? Because I learned long ago that love is fleeting and you have to catch it while you can. Despite this being categorically untrue of several excellent relationships, the addiction, and the undercurrent of fear that drives it, still hums below the surface of me.
Like all addicts, I’m fine when I’m dosing regularly, when I’m getting that sweet honey of emotional stimuli pumped into my veins. But in the absence of communication or intention I become like Gollum and The Ring; a tortured, pathetic creature obsessed with an ideal I can’t ever quite grasp, relegated to dark, dank spaces in my mind, sucking at the memory of my vices like a lozenge, the thirst for Love & Affection moving slowly through me like a shadow, just enough to calm the shaking, just enough to kickstart my heart again.
I haven’t decided (admitted?) that my kinks and predilections, like control or non monogamy, may be rooted in pain. I can see the paths that lead back to the darkness and experiences that may have confused the two but I have more exploration ahead of me before I can make sense of it. Until then, I continue to haunt myself, a ragged, lovesick ghost, moaning and dragging its shackles through my mind, scraping together a steady drip of syrupy feels, just enough to survive, just enough to make it through the night.