I don’t know why I attach to people who don’t always provide me with what it is I actually need. I can still attach to people who are inconsistent or uncaring or who traumatise me further – relationally, I mean. These attachments can be toxic and yet I must have gotten something from them because otherwise I wouldn’t have felt the way I did towards them at all.
Maybe I attach to people because it is better to have someone than to have no one, even if they cannot give me what I need. Maybe the innocent ignorant child within me thinks that if I keep persisting and pushing for what it is I need, they will see how much I am hurting and take me under their wing. Or maybe they won’t, and the attachment and relationship is just an illusion. I don’t know what it is. But I loved them too, in my own way. Even if I hated their guts too. Maybe I need the pain?
Yes, maybe I need the pain. If I didn’t have the pain, I wouldn’t know these feelings at all. I wouldn’t have anything to measure myself against or try to better understand who I am or how I got to be this way. I wouldn’t feel or be able to process any of it at all. I would be naïve.
I need these attachments because they make me feel something. They make me feel alive and alone and connected and anguished and angry and pained and flung around and churned up inside and anxious and jealous and special and joyful and safe and conflicted and unsafe. They make me feel connected. They make me feel INTENSELY. They make me feel, full stop.
Without them, I am even more of a floating lifeless hollow vessel. I need to attach to people and I need the intensity of the attachments because without that, what do I have? Who do I have, and how do I know it, in their absence? How else do I convince myself that the possibility of feeling whole again even exists?