I Am A Love Addict

And not in the good way. The way for example my children need love, attention and affirmation. I am like a child – I cannot fill the empty hole inside me with anything. I have tried stuffing the hole with clothes, but it didn’t work. Turns out my psychic hole is not Gucci-shaped. At one point I filled it with dudes, but they just stunk it up with foot odor and too much cologne. Over a decade ago, I thought an engagement ring would fill it, now it just sits in the hole refracting light, illuminating all the emptiness.All I had to do to get everyone’s attention was have a car accident. Never mind that I am still in pain, still traumatized, still can’t stand up straight or do the exercise which keeps me from veering off into complete insanity, I got a shit-ton of email, and returned phone calls and Facebook posts. Totes worth it, right?

Lately there has been a rather Satanic phenomenon of people pretending to have cancer and other serious diseases for years and years, getting free medical care and collecting the sympathy only given to the sick and the dying. I am surprised I do not have Munchausen syndrome, I’m surprised I haven’t swallowed thumb tacks by now if this is all the love that keeps pouring in. Perforated stomach lining? Shit, that’s nothin’ compared to the devastating loneliness I feel every time my house door closes, whether my kids are with me or not.

I will not use my kids to plug the hole, they deserve better. And the dogs just fill it with fur I’m allergic to, trapping all the other dust bunnies inside. They are SO fucking needy – they are themselves love addicts, following me around from room to room, freaking out if I’m not a paw-length away, being nice to me even after I yell at them. But somehow it’s so much cuter in a canine.

I would hump my husband’s leg as he leaves for work in the morning, but it wouldn’t help. He still has to work. And I work daily on… hating myself more. If self-loathing were a sport, I would be a Gold medalist. I cannot forgive myself. I cannot cut me any slack. I am enraged at everyone and everything. How’s your day going?


  1. Hi Malibu,

    LOL that your “psychic hole is not Gucci shaped”. Good line! Turns out mine also isn’t shaped like a shoe, a pill, or a penis for that matter. Maybe there isn’t a hole! Maybe it’s a WHOLE. Oh wow. So deep.

    Life can be such a damned struggle. Every time I read your stuff though, through it all, I hear a woman who is funny, self-aware and loving and CARING mom and wife. Sorry you had a crap day. Tomorrow is a different day.

    you should go check out Tracy Fulks blog. I think you two would find each other amusing.


    Your pal, misslisted

  2. When you get better you need to give your wonderful and funny self to the poor, abused and the ill…You will feel so much better. Believe me. I know what I say is the magic cure..When I was in LA went to Skid Row..Take a drive over..there..volunteer or to a an Abused Womans Shelter…Depressiion is Anger turned inward..I know been there..lived there. I wish for you the best..Here’s a life line…Catch!..xo

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