Staving off the Hunger

Connection junkies come in all shapes and sizes, as many shapes and sizes as there are people. Some connection junkies are very obvious in how they play out their addiction. They cling in very open ways to almost everyone they come into contact with. They lift people up onto fantastical pedestals where the innocent pawn’s humanity is irrelevant. Even though they may hardly know you, they may have high expectations of how you are going to live up to your role. Of course, this behaviour leads to many betrayals and letdowns, and creates a museum of Judases.

However, there are other less obvious connection junkies, whose behaviour almost seems to suggest that they are not addicted to human connection. These are the people that rarely socialise, and isolate themselves for long periods of time. Their behaviour seems to suggest that they don’t need people and don’t need human company, as if they don’t desire that kind of stimulation.

This behaviour is like a magic charm, whereby, the participant hopes to convince them self of that very thing. They starve themselves of something that all human beings require in some measure for an ordinary balanced life. It may seem, and they would be adamant about this, that they do not require what others require, as if they are wired differently. However, the truth of the addiction will always slip through in other behind-the-scene behaviours.


Often, with these closet connection junkies, they satisfy their needs for company and affection, and their desire to care, nurture or parent, with non-humans [pets or strays]. I am not suggesting acts of bestiality here, just innocent acts of much needed affection. These interactions with non-humans stave off the desires for human interaction, and more importantly, avert the likelihood of misunderstandings, obligations and social guilt that the person has encountered in their past.


Instead of going on a journey, whereby the person re-learns, re-evaluates, and re-lives new patterns, that shed social guilt and the inevitable dissatisfaction that comes with it, they enter a stasis. Within in this stasis, nothing changes, and the person does not grow. The instincts remain the same, and so, when the person does venture out into the populated world again, they encounter all the same kinds of old familiar feelings; the kind of feelings that had them hiding away in the first place.


It is not that animals are much different from humans [they eat and shit and fuck, they are competitive, and they seek to meet their needs at all cost] the only difference is that the connection junkie projects less expectation onto them. They are spared the pedestals and the significance. 

The connection junkie may claim that they don’t expect anything from humans, but, often this is a protective statement, much like the person that exclaims, “I don’t give a shit!” when they blatantly do. “I don’t expect anything” covers up the disappointed fantasy of the better parent, which then gets transferred on to the better friend, or the better partner.



Underneath the numb façade lie catacombs, full of the bones of interred wishes.