disorganized_attachment The Machine I want closeness the way a burn wants air. I move toward you already flinching, already cataloging exits, already rehearsing how I will survive wanting you more than I should. My nervous system learned love as an emergency: approach and danger wired to the same alarm. If you come close, my body asks what you will take. If you pull away, my body asks what I did wrong. I reach, then freeze. I trust, then test. I ask for safety while holding the knife myself. I am not confused. I am precise. I know exactly what I want and exactly why I cannot have it. Healing requires safety. Safety requires trust. Trust requires a body that does not remember being small and trapped and alone with love that hurt. So I wait to be healed before I let you in. I wait to feel safe before I stop scanning. I wait to stop scanning before I soften. This is the loop. This is the intelligence of it. This is how you survive what once had no exit. Do not tell me I am broken. I am doing exactly what worked when nothing else did. 260101 what's it to you? who go blather from