Any fool knows that bravado is always a cover up for insecurity. That’s the truth. And on that note, I’ll say goodnight. God love you. –Bobby Darin

In my life, I have experienced a plethora of anxious moments of tension. I have endured those times where one minute, I’m fine. I’m happily enjoying my Jameson, staring out into the sunset, ever thankful to be alive. And then the next minute, my chest is tight and thudding, my heart is pounding in my ears, the surrounding noise is suddenly muffled by my random thoughts of ensuing doom.

                                                              

I don’t have a career. I don’t have children. My parents are nearing seventy. I’m not social enough. I’ve never been to Europe. I’m missing out! I’ve messed things up. And I’m almost thirty!

Jesus Christ, my chest hurts just thinking about it. Like really hurts. Heart disease is in my family. What if it’s a heart attack? I think my left arm is tingling…

(Don’t say it, I already know: How in the hell am I married to a sane person?)

But listen, it happens. You panic to the point of losing all grasp on reality. You become this little Needy-Saurus Rex who latches onto the first attractive person who pays attention to you. It’s disgusting and embarrassing but it happens. Even to God-like beings like Jennifer Aniston. (No seriously though, have you ever heard that? Apparently she and Kate Hudson are these perfect, clingy, California bred golden goddesses. But let me ask you something: who would turn either one of those women down? Because I mean, I wouldn’t…)

The problem with human attraction is not knowing if it will be returned. –Becca Fitzpatrick

I was once acquainted with this woman who had more issues than Vogue. She had gone through allegedly everything and perhaps as a result of that, she was always going through life with this habitual negative attitude. It was almost as if she was planning for bad things to happen to her. It was like she had these plans for things to fall apart; like she had lost her zest for life. And there I was, clad in Gianni Bini wedges, sipping my martini, and putting together outfits for my pending Midwest vacation.

Just exhausting.

But the point was that this woman’s feelings of dread in regards to her professedly terrible life really put a damper on things. Not only was it incessantly bringing her down but it sort of caused her to cling to the first moderately acceptable man. I mean, sure he wasn’t completely awful but you know… not completely not awful either.

So because of all this exposure to domestic disturbance, broken hearts, and affliction she naturally developed this sense of forbearance in relationships. It was like she apprehended all these terrible things happening and just sort of banked on spending her life alone. Sedated, beautiful and alone.

The task we must set for ourselves is not to feel secure, but to be able to tolerate insecurity. –Erich Fromm

And naturally, and perhaps not so surprisingly, when she did finally meet someone who was halfway worth her while, she put all her eggs into his basket. It could be that I misread that entire situation but it almost seemed like she latched onto him. All of a sudden, he became this perfect human being, apparently descendant to someone mildly reminiscent of Jesus Christ. (… or Adolf Hitler, more like.)

She told me about all of his redeeming qualities, about all the allegedly wonderful things he had done for her, and it was almost as if she was trying more to convince herself than me. It was like she knew that while he wasn’t necessarily the worst pick of the litter, he wasn’t really the best pick either. But she clung to him because it was better than being alone. It was better than stepping out into the unknown world with nothing but good genes and a nice rack. It was better than being with someone who was habitually terrible to her.

It was better to have a cranky, whiny, spoiled brat, trust fund baby of a security blanket than nothing at all. Because even though he was a selfish asshole, he wanted her. He loved her, and he was there for her.

Honestly, I’ve seen it before. And even more honestly, I’ve been there myself. It is very easy to latch onto people when they pay attention to you, when they speak softly to you, and when they sit back and look interested while you ramble on about nothing.

It is especially comforting when you have moderate to low self-esteem and there is someone on the other end, paying you compliments and reminding you of how good you should be treated, how wonderful you should be feeling. It is a wonderful sensation to feel the light shine on you after you’ve been beaten down for so long.

So in the aforementioned situation, are they clingy? Or are these individuals just led to the slaughter, conditioned to bad behavior, and craving something that is potentially more consolatory? Is it just something in which they can grasp onto and gain some ground? Sort of like a band-aid to cover a fractured life? Are they clingy or are they just grasping for that drifting lifeboat?

Moral of the Crazy: The reality of all of this is that life is scary. It is a little less scary with someone by your side but at the same time, what happens when that someone leaves? What happens when they die tragically or suddenly? Or what happens if they out of nowhere treat you like garbage?

Is it better to spend the remainder of your life all alone or cling to the first halfway sane individual you set eyes on? Does it make more sense to live alone and adopt a bunch of stupid cats or latch onto the first brown eyed man who buys you a steak? Why not just hop into his stick shift Mercedes and try to talk yourself into loving him?

Mercedes or crazy cat lady? Mercedes or crazy cat lady? Do you just overfeed the cats and pray that they don’t eat the skin off your perfect cheek bones when you die of a heart attack? Why does everything have to be so black and goddamn white?

No, friends. No. Try again.

Listen, I am probably as clingy as the next broad but I feel like there is a huge difference between that and settling for something that you’re unsure about. In fact, I am one of those people that thrives off of attention from my mate. I’m your typical Italian brat. Things were always handed to me. My parents always covered me in kisses and told me how wonderful I was. They reminded me that I would most certainly leave a lasting mark on society because I was just that incredible.

Under five foot four, great olive skin, innate musical talent, born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was definitely going places and I was reminded of it every day. Even when I was in that awkward puberty stage, my mom and dad would gaze at me like I was Princess Diana and say, “You’re so beautiful, Kate. You’re going to make the best doctor/lawyer/musician/detective (it really depended on the week) this world has ever SEEN!” So naturally, I developed a bit of a complex. So thanks, mom and dad, for that.

Anyway, because of that constant parental support, I like being touched (I know Archer fans, phrasing…) talked to, and ogled at all the time because for whatever reason (probably youngest child syndrome), I don’t feel loved or special unless all the attention is on me. Call it Italian problems or the fact that I’m married to someone super attentive to my every need, but if texting someone a katrillion times a day is considered to be clingy… hey, if the shoe fits, you know what I mean?

Anyway, no amount of clingy can make up for whatever may or may not have happened to you in a previous life. The fact of the matter is that clingy behavior is only mildly cute when I do it and even then, it’s pushing it.

So let go of that life boat and learn how to swim. Because we live in Florida and the water is warm. It’s not as if you’ll freeze to death a la the Titanic. And also because if you find the right one, you won’t have to cling to them.

Because they won’t want to leave.

Most bad behavior comes from insecurity. –Debra Winger