Intimacy

Intimacy is a drug that no one can afford and everyone’s a junkie. An insatiable desire for connection is always present- a desire for human connection, for mutuality, for something that will numb the empty dark so tangible that it eerily condenses on our skin like a cold sweat. This desire to numb, to quench, to alleviate this longing is the motivation behind so many of our dysfunctions.
Some people grasp at and latch onto others. They squeeze and pin them down so that they cannot leave, an attempt to stay close by force. Perhaps they are trying to prevent anyone from stealing away another chunk of themselves like the one they lost last time when they didn’t hold on tight enough. Some people keep others at a distance- they’ll never get burned if they stay away from the fire. They try to convince themselves of their independence and self-sufficiency. They lie to themselves. There are countless ways people dysfunctionally deal with their need for intimacy and connection. They try to create it, but they are not the Creator. Confused, some implement contradictory mechanisms, grasping at people yet holding them at a distance.
Some people long after closeness so much that they disclose all their secrets at once. Sometimes it’s because they want people to know them but lack faith in natural progression. They try to birth relational bonds prematurely, after which is delivered underdeveloped relationships with little chance of survival. These immediate disclosures are like freeze-dried, microwave attempts at a gourmet meal, sacrificing taste in the name of desperation. Others do the same thing for a different reason. They unload everything right at the beginning because they fear being a victim of a cut-and-run. They figure they should lay out all the dirty laundry in plain sight in fear that it might be too disgusting and odorous for another to stick around. “Just go now. You probably will when you find out, so lets just get it over with.”
Other people keep their secrets hidden. They disguise themselves and become master impersonators, acquiring a different persona, hoping and praying that no one ever figures it out that the mystical, booming voice of the wizard if really just a fumbling man behind the curtain. The secret-keepers have scratch marks on the inside of their rib cages as the ugly, vicious animal inside of them is clawing at them, wildly trying to escape, whereas the secret-tellers are naked and vulnerable, lying on the floor again, guts spilled out and trampled.
What conflicted, desperate creatures we are. We run and hope to be caught; we hide in the dark and pray to be found. We do everything we can to make ourselves forget that we are lonely, that we were lonely, and that we will be lonely. How great is our need for redemption, for rescue, for freedom from the captivities we get ourselves into yet don’t know how to escape. Lead us out, come be our Light, come be our Redeemer, oh Giver of life.