Attachment

I’ve been told it’s not healthy, it’s not what we’re supposed to do, it’s something that we have to avoid at all costs, but I’m a sucker for attachment. Each time I balance on the precipice, I look into the warmth that awaits me on the other side of the fence, and I lean over. That’s it. I fall in. I attach. It feels wonderful, yet I'm scared. My limbs, my skin, my whole being becomes glued to this warmth, but I’m not a fly that is stuck on a sugary surface. I dissolve. It’s terrifying, because it’ll take time to find all the pieces and put myself together in case it all goes to hell. I watch my mind drift, my thoughts sink, and my heart fill with the liquid. Pump, pump. There is no emergency exit now. I’m fully in.

I wonder where this need to attach is coming from – perhaps from the very early years, from the need to be held, always; be looked at, always; be loved, always; be warm, always. I guess I didn’t get much of it, and I buried this need deep down. It’s a pretty stubborn thing, to suppress. It would break through my carefully constructed facade and chase people away. I would tackle it back down, I would wrestle with it, we would have bloody fights. I longed to yank it out of my existence, to stop being called needy, touchy-feely and overly dramatic. I was done with being a sissy, I wanted to grow up and be tough, like all normal adults are. What I found out, though, is that we never do. We never cease to long for this. Some of us got more of it, some got less. But we all stumble through life seeking it again. And we get hurt. We attach the first time and when it breaks, we learn that it hurts, we attach again, and it hurts to the point of vomit, of wanting to never ever again engage in any lovey dovey things. We decide to toughen up. We grow a protective layer of cold looks, smart-ass jokes, perfect hair and stable circle of friends, or a job, or a hobby. We hide behind it, we keep ourselves busy, and, look, suddenly it seems like the pain is gone and we don’t need anybody. Yes! Victory! Until one evening we find ourselves yearning for it again – because of some stupid book we just read, or a tear jerking movie we saw, or a pair of kissing teenagers that disturbed our piece while eating a customary dinner at a local cafe, or someone who looked at us a few seconds longer than necessary. Somewhere is a store, or on the street, or at some boring conference gathering.

We tackle it. The need to attach. It persists. We knock it down with antidepressants and drinks with friends. It laughs at us and breaks through the layers. If we got hurt a lot in the past, we have a whole stack of those – layers. One on top of another on top of another. We probably have forgotten who we really are underneath all that artificial protection. Guess what, like a stubborn seedling, our need to attach grows. It cracks though our shell, one day at a time, until we wake up, bleeding. We’re vulnerable again, and we hate it. We want to fill it in, the crack, so we dive into caring for our kids, or we buy a pet, or we decide to renovate our kitchen, or to go to Tibet to enlighten our being. But we need none of this. We just need to attach, and traveling distances will fill our brain with new brain food, but it will not lessen the need. Until. One day. We fall in love. Period.

And it's too late. We suffer in agony, going against the pull. We don't want it, we resist, we reason, we talk it out, we express it and fully believe we are not supposed to be drawn to this like we are. But, it's beautiful. If we simply let it carry us away, without thinking about tomorrow, without projecting exactly when it will end and how much it will hurt - if we let go of it and let ourselves be - we're happy. We bathe in the warmth, we feel like we're newborns all over again - intact with an umbilical cord that has never been cut - attached firmly and irresistibly, physically, emotionally, on all levels we can imagine. If we manage to ignore the advice from others, from those who have been hurt and wish us only, who try to dress us in the layers - when they see us stark naked, when they can't stomach us being completely exposed. If we don't listen to the past or don't imagine the future - if we are able to actually enjoy the attachment while it lasts - it fill us with happiness to the brim. It's heaven to get lost in it. Being attached.

I guess I'm a sucker for attachment, and I love it.

Photo by Bùi Linh Ngân.