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  • Amy Fox

The Self Love Plug

Hehe here’s some clickbait for you! I bet you thought I was going to be talking about the kinky side of Self Love… ;) Well not today, but read on, this is even better :)


So I’m going to start this blog post by sharing with you a short piece of creative writing that helped me to express the utter despair and turmoil I was experiencing in an anxious/avoidant connection a couple of years ago. I called this piece of writing The Bucket and The Crumbs and it goes like this -


In the words of my friend Kasia -


‘Love is the drug’


I’m addicted to his crumbs. Every tiny crumb of connection he sends my way, be it a text, a voice message, a photo. Every single gesture that he’s thinking about me becomes my hit, my supply of endorphins.


I’m like a child with big doe-eyes clutching onto a yellow plastic bucket, following him and offering my bucket with outstretched arms, begging him with my pleading eyes to please throw another little crumb my way.


He does. He casually tosses a crumb over his shoulder. I catch it in my yellow plastic bucket and my eyes light up. My heart races, I feel like a greedy little girl in a sweetie shop. A smile spreads over my face and my whole being illuminates. Everything is OK again, life is bearable, nigh life is wondrous.


The thing is though, my yellow plastic bucket has a hole in the bottom. And, after a short time, the crumb finds its way out of my bucket through this hole. Alas, my bucket is empty once again.


My smile fades. Withdrawal kicks in. My excited heart beat turns into an anxious heart beat. Sadness creeps in which quickly turns to despair. So I run after him, nudging him with my bucket again. I feel pathetic. I feel weak. I feel needy and desperate. Desperate for my fix. I’m clinging onto his irregular and perceived finite crumbs of connection, each one superficially proving to me my value and sending me hopes and dreams of an ever-lasting connection. My worthiness wholly dependent upon his acceptance and approval of me. The emptiness that the crumbs once satiated swallows me up, it’s excruciating here.


So I want more crumbs. I want a never-ending supply of crumbs. I want the flow of crumbs to be consistent and regular. I want to know that the crumbs will come and keep coming forever. That is my safety. Or so I once thought…


I can beg and beg and beg and plead on my knees like a neurotic and unreasonable mad woman. “Please give me another crumb, please don’t stop throwing me crumbs!” And then I pause in my tracks. As I look down at my bucket, watching each and every crumb slip away through the gaping hole, I observe the futility for the first time, the endless rollercoaster of euphoria and despair within the cycle of satisfying my addiction and withdrawal.


Then one day the veil lifts and I see clearly. The solution I’m looking for doesn’t lie in the hollow acquisition of more and more crumbs that anyway become obsolete after only a short time. No, the solution is to patch up the hole in my yellow plastic bucket so that the crumbs of connection stay with me. My bucket remains full. I remain whole. I am whole. I am enough.


To heal I MUST figure out how to patch over this hole. My work continues…


And so it is.

**********************


And so indeed it is. And, alas, my work did continue, and still does. And it wasn’t long after that that I realised exactly what would patch up the hole… Self Love. To love myself would keep my bucket full at all times. My ‘love tank’ would never be empty so a) I wouldn’t need other people to fill it for me and b) other people can’t fill it anyway, without my self love plug there, the hole is wide open for all their love to be wasted as it disappears into the deep, black abyss of self-loathing.


Thank you for reading :)




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