Unhealthy attachments have become the bane of my existence. I have only, thus far, had two unhealthy attachments in my life. One was my student therapist named “Steve.” The other, a friend named “Luna.” I have yet to burn the bridges with my friend Luna, but I fear that burnt bridge will be coming for me soon.
By unhealthy attachments, I mean attachments that have become excessive, obsessive, and draining. I do not know what root cause it circles back to; maybe it is the borderline tendencies I have tentatively been prescribed to, maybe it is having exposed all the shadowy and ugly bits of myself to these two people. Whatever it is, wherever it came from, I wish it would go away.
Instead, I seem to be stuck with them. I seem to be unable to pry my fingers away from its cloudy, black, needy stench and silhouette. I suppose I have to first identify what exactly I mean by an unhealthy attachment, then I have to recognize what problematic behaviors I am engaging in (or not engaging in) that I believe is fueling the fire, and then address it head-on even while it is painful and use therapy and coping skills to divert my attention from the rest of the issue while I attempt to solve it.
That sounds like a lot of work and it probably will be. It will likely take a lot of personal insight, self-awareness, redirection, radical acceptance, dialectical behavior therapy skills and pounds of coping strategies, patience and self-love. Because my first encounter with Steve is in the past I can only learn from my previous behavior to help guide me in addressing the current issue I am having with Luna.
I suppose I will additionally have to set aside my doubts and insecurities onto some blank journal paper. These doubts and uncertainties revolve around whether I am becoming “too much” for Luna to handle. Maybe I am “too needy.” Maybe I am draining and exhausting and incapable of being pleased. Maybe Luna does not want anything to do with me and I am just fooling myself into thinking that they do. And, of course, maybe I should just do everyone a favor and end my life because I will never be able to handle this level of rejection while also taking everything extremely personal. Maybe I was not cut out to live this life.
I cannot tell fact from fiction. And these doubts are extremely painful because maybe, just maybe, they might be true. Maybe I am just fooling myself to think any differently than what these thoughts are implying.
I can recognize the thoughts as irrational even as my emotions become rampant and my mental state decompensates. The childlike yearning that arrives when I enter these crises is exactly the issue that results in problematic behaviors with the people who have chosen to be around me. I recognize that I have the urge to dispel these mistruths by checking in with my friends to be reassured that my brain is just making a mockery out of me.
And there lies the fear that maybe, just maybe, these thoughts are true. At the same time, I do not believe I have surrounded myself with people who would ever dare to say it was true or even believe it to be true themselves.
The need I have is to reach out to Luna, and others. And I know at the same time that I cannot. Because the reassurance cycle will return in the future and I need to not act out, to not reach out for that reassurance, because no matter what Luna or anyone else tells me it will come back again and I will just have to repeat the cycle all over to momentarily feel secure and at ease.
Instead, I think I have to feel the pain and the emotional turmoil. I have to feel the pain in order to get past it. I have to utilize my coping strategies as ammunition against the BS in my brain. Because they are just thoughts, they only hold as much power as I give them, and I am really tired of giving them free reign.
Robert Frost is quoted to having said that “the best way out is always through.” I have to believe that I can withstand these thoughts. I have to believe that I am strong enough, that I am worthwhile, and that my life is important.
I do not know why this has happened. But it has. And I can either accept that and move forward or let my mind obsess about it until I act on some outrageous suicidal thought. And, even if I did, I know that it would never be enough. Maybe, just maybe, that’s a place to start.
Stay safe.