Addicted, but not in a way you think.

I am an addict,

But not in the way you think.

My addiction is touch, physical contact, & intimacy.

The rush of dopamine I receive from an accidental brush of a hand is embarrassing.

I am a fiend searching for my next fix in anyone,

Making them my dealer.

I sell pieces of myself in exchange for a few minutes of intimacy,

Re’al o fa’ke.

My icy fingertips long to feel the burning heat of anothers’ flesh.

I yearn for the entanglement of limbs, the caressing of noses, the brushing of lips.

My body aches for the security I find in being held.

I crave skin to skin contact like a newborn clinging to a mother’s chest trying to feel safe again.

I’m afraid that no embrace will ever be enough to feed the hunger I possess.

I fear the come down from the high, the loneliness, and withdrawals;

All which occur when I am left alone.

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However I am an addict,

I will learn to be content with my own touch and not recoil.

I will learn to love myself enough to embrace myself and receive the same amount of dopamine.

I will caress myself and feel comforted.

I will close my eyes, hold myself, and drift to sleep just as swiftly.

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However I am an addict,

And I am craving the touch of another as I write this.