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Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
If you’ve ever questioned why you crave the wrong people, the answer lives deeper than logic. It settles in the nervous system, not in rational thought. Although you may tell yourself that you want connection, what you truly crave is sensation — the kind that disrupts, destabilizes, and makes your body feel intensely alive.
Some people feel safe.
Others feel electric.
And more often than not, it’s the electric ones who reshape your desire.
At times, wanting someone doesn’t feel like a choice — it feels like gravity.
The wrong people rarely ease into your life. Instead, they shift your internal balance the moment they appear. Your breath changes. Your focus narrows. Your emotions sharpen.
Before you analyze, your body already answers.
Even before you decide, your pulse reacts.
As a result, craving begins before clarity arrives.
While the right people bring steadiness, the wrong ones bring charge.
Because unpredictability stimulates the nervous system, anticipation starts to feel like passion. Each delayed message hits harder. Each brief glance carries more weight. Each silent moment overflows with imagined outcomes.
This explains why you crave the wrong people long after you understand they disrupt you. Your system grows attached not to safety — but to contrast.
And gradually, deprivation itself becomes seductive.
The wrong people don’t pull you in with consistency. Instead, they oscillate between closeness and distance.
As that pattern repeats, emotional uncertainty begins to feel meaningful. Their absence creates hunger. Their return feels like relief.
In time, your body starts associating instability with intensity.
You don’t just want their touch anymore.
You start longing for the emotional release that follows distance.
Inside desire lives a quiet wish: to stop guarding, to stop managing, to stop calculating.
With the wrong people, that wish sharpens.
You don’t only crave closeness.
You crave the moment when resistance collapses.
In those moments, surrender feels like freedom.
Still, without emotional safety beneath it, freedom slowly transforms into dependence.
Although your body speaks honestly, it does not prioritize protection. It reacts to urgency, anticipation, emotional friction, and the loss of control.
Consequently, unstable connections feel intoxicating. They unbalance you — and imbalance feels like movement. That movement often masquerades as passion. In turn, passion gets mistaken for depth.
Yet intensity alone never creates intimacy.
When someone wants your body but withholds emotional steadiness, desire becomes your proof of worth.
At first, it feels empowering.
Eventually, it becomes consuming.
You feel chosen — but conditionally.
You feel wanted — but not anchored.
You feel visible — but not truly held.
This is another reason why you crave the wrong people: desire becomes the only language through which your value feels confirmed.
Many times, the longing isn’t really about them.
Instead, it’s about the version of yourself they awaken.
More expressive.
More daring.
More surrendered.
With them, restraint dissolves. You feel expanded — not because the connection is safe, but because it breaks your containment.
You don’t just want their touch.
You want to feel undone by it.
However, when undoing happens without support, it leads not to liberation — but to depletion.
At first, the charge feels thrilling.
Later, it feels exhausting.
Over time, you need more tension to feel the same spark. More uncertainty to feel arousal. More instability to justify the pull.
Meanwhile, calm begins to feel unfamiliar.
Consistency starts to feel flat.
Peace starts to feel suspicious.
This is the hidden cost of why you crave the wrong people instead of the ones who could actually hold you.
Eventually, a painful truth emerges:
Safety does not kill desire.
Depth does not require chaos.
Passion does not need emotional danger.
Still, your nervous system must relearn stimulus.
Not urgency — but presence.
Not unpredictability — but attunement.
Not emotional distance — but mutual availability.
That kind of desire grows slower.
Yet it penetrates deeper.
At some point, someone will want you without unsettling you first.
They will touch you without activating fear.
They will desire you without bargaining with your worth.
Initially, your system may not register that as excitement.
However, if you allow yourself to stay, something unfamiliar will replace the old hunger:
Safety that still turns you on.
That is the moment when desire stops functioning as survival —
and finally becomes connection.