sometimes withdrawal feels like affection

“I am obsessed. I am obsessed with a person I don’t even know. […] I created fake Instagram account and Facebook account just to stalk him. I know way too much about him to ever confidently look into his eyes. I crave him so bad. I am so out of control that I continue to get drunk on wine. I’ve been ordering unhealthy takeout, and [… I walked to a convenience store] and got cigarettes because I needed to subside my obsession somehow. I haven’t smoked in a long time.”

From My Journal, Day 109

I was awakened from my daydreaming by a visceral sexual attraction.

I remember sitting several rows behind him and looking at his wide neck and shoulders. There was something primal about his build. His broad muscular frame inspired an image of a caveman, a hunter, a protector. There was something animalistic about my attraction to him. I felt it deep in my bones. My body ached for him.

The attraction was mutual. I saw it in his eyes. But neither of us initiated a conversation. I frequently ran into him, and when I did I froze like a deer in headlights.

I felt extremely anxious. Perhaps, I sensed he was not a safe man. Perhaps, it was due to my learned association between intimacy and danger, which was strongly reinforced by a lifetime of disappointments, pain and trauma. I can say with certainty, however, that we were both emotionally unavailable.

Instead of acting on my feelings and approaching him, I let the quite natural attraction grow into an unnatural obsession. I searched for him everywhere I went. I created fake social media accounts to stalk his. I talked about him incessantly, and when I was not talking or stalking, I was fantasizing.

I craved him, although I did not know him. I had never heard his voice, felt his touch, smelled or tasted him. Yet, I craved him. It was all a figment of my imagination. I quenched my cravings with wine and unhealthy takeout. And it is no coincidence that some years after quitting smoking, I once again lit up a cigarette, which then led to more cravings and another obsession.

I smoked cigarettes when I was younger. I hated it. I hated the smell of it. I hated the taste of it. I hated how it instantly made me fatigued and anxious. I was filled with hatred towards the habit and shame about myself. Yet, I vividly remember feeling that nothing could compare to the high of nicotine. Nothing felt enjoyable without a cigarette. Life felt empty. I attempted to quit many times and, like many, failed. And I remember thinking that I would be able to quit smoking if only I had a boyfriend. I figured I could fill the void with another person. Afterall, is it not what we all do? Do we not, consciously and unconsciously, fill the voids in our lives and our hearts with people around us?

I did quit smoking eventually. That was a year or so into my relationship. I replaced the habit of smoking with a relationship and a new obsession, I mean hobby, which was running. Nicotine, sex, love and running have more in common than it appears – all four induce a strong intoxicating physiological response in a relatively short timeframe.  

One may argue that unlike cigarettes, sex, relationships and exercise are healthy. Relationships and fitness, as well as nutrition, are not only some of the most common objects of obsession, but also widely celebrated and encouraged sources of mental preoccupation, distraction, avoidance and addiction. It is what nature intended afterall – to encourage us to sleep, eat, move and fornicate. These rather natural activities flood our brain receptors with feel-good chemicals to ensure our genes are passed on.

The cultural fixation on relational and physical health also gives us an illusion of control. On some level, we believe that by managing our relationships we can avoid facing ourselves and evade confronting our own inadequacies. We believe that by sculpting our body we can shape the perceptions of others. We believe that by subscribing to a rigid diet or sleep regimen or a ritual of activities with questionable practical utility, we can outsmart aging and death. Or we simply distract ourselves. I was most strict with my diet during the months leading up to the breakup. It was much easier to cry over the fact that I could not have cake than admit that there was no sweetness in my relationship.

Nonetheless, I found myself single again. I was lonely. I was injured from running. And I was smoking.

At last, I came face to face with my inner monsters. Now that I was no longer channeling my compulsive, obsessive and addictive tendencies into more socially acceptable pursuits, i.e., a relationship and healthy lifestyle habits, my dysfunctional patterns became so evident I could no longer ignore them… or blame someone else for them.  

In truth, the crush was not an object of my affection. The crush was a trigger. The crush was not a source of my overwhelmingly strong feelings, cravings and aching. I was.

As usual, I was chasing the high. I wanted to feel good. I needed to fill the void. I never felt wholly safe and at peace in the presence of another person to begin with, and I most certainly was not able to let anyone near me (and rightfully so) shortly after the breakup. Thus, the obsession with a person I had not as much as spoken to served as a surrogate for connection, affection and intimacy. And when that was not enough, I turned to nicotine.  

My nervous system was highly dysregulated. The pain of being alone, and the even greater pain of now beginning to see my past relationships more clearly compounded with adverse effects of my bad habits took me on a wild emotional rollercoaster ride.

I did not know the skills to ground and soothe myself. I did not have the strength to hold space for my inner experiences. It was unbearable to drop into the present moment and stay there. Awareness overwhelmed and sickened me. So, I resorted to stalking, drinking and smoking in an attempt to numb and escape from my pain.

One may wonder why I did not ask for help. In therapy, I was encouraged to seek healing in relationships that were dysfunctional. I wasted hundreds of dollars on self-help courses that promised the healing power of self-love in as little as thirty days. Some close to me reveled in my unraveling and further fueled my obsession with the crush, and others simply were not strong enough to witness and be present with my pain.

I did ask for help. And in the process, I was misled, I was deceived, and my experiences were – mostly unintentionally – invalidated.

It is challenging to find healing in a sick society. It is nearly impossible to be seen by those who are too afraid to see themselves.

Thus, without anyone to rescue me from myself, I plunged deep into the rabbit hole of compulsion, obsession, and addiction.