I heard this phrase in a meeting the other day: “junkie love.” At first I didn’t understand, but then the feelings and memories came flooding back, and I knew exactly what that meant.
I guess I’ve gotten to a place in my life where I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in a toxic relationship. I’m watching Jersey Shore on television and, while it’s clearly not the best example of humanity, I see these people in destructive relationships turn their already fragile bonds from bad to worse by drinking and living the “party everyday” lifestyle. Part of me wants to say, “Oh, yeah, it looks like fun.” DJs, night clubs, shots, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, hook-ups, sexy club shoes, up all night and asleep all day. Fun, right? But then I remember: I’ve been there and I’ve done that. And I could have continued, but I made a decision to stop because it didn’t actually satiate my appetite for love.
I remember that desperate need to be with someone: to feel liked, loved, appreciated, recognized. And I remember that it didn’t matter how I got those things, I just needed them. I believe that I have really been loved in a few of my past relationships, and at these times my need was met in a healthier way. Between those relationships, however, I felt like a pinball whirling inside a machine from guy to drink and back to guy again: without a course, without a reason… bounce, ding… no one to be sure of, no one to be sure of me… bounce, ding… junkie love.
Bringing some of those feelings to the front of my mind now makes me nauseous. I drank because I wanted to be wanted, to feel valid, and to forget that I didn’t already have that inside me. Somewhere along the line, I had convinced myself that the person who was wanted was That Girl, and from there on out, that’s who I became when my needs tugged at my soul.
“Junkie”: a person who derives inordinate pleasure from or who is dependent on something (Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary). Yep, that summed it up.
All the pleasure I received of feeling wanted was temporary and often fleeting, dependent upon when and with whom the next relationship was. When I felt lonely and didn’t know who I was, I selected a sexy outfit, called a friend, and went to a bar. I became That Girl: That Girl who girls wanted to be; That Girl who guys wanted to be with; That Girl who had a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
The next morning I was still That Girl, but in harsh light of the early morning, walking out of his apartment, I looked different: empty, needy. The pleasure of That Girl the night before was gone and I was alone. I thought I was getting what I needed, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was getting drama and chaos—bounce, ding. My sponsor said there’s a difference between drama/chaos and excitement. I thought that being wanted for a relationship meant that I was the person I wanted to be. But I was just addicted to junkie love. I was also a love junkie; I desperately needed to feel loved.
I had to learn who I really was and who I really wanted to be, before I could ever even care one iota about what someone else thought of me. I was addicted to ideas about love, but not to anything real. It’s been a hard road, both before I got into recovery and since getting involved, of learning not to need that vicious cycle of toxicity in my relationships, and learning how to get love, from me—the Real Girl.
An Addict, Analyzed 