Broken Down and Hungry for Love

Yearning and the All-Consuming Desire to be Loved

There is a revolution that has begun, and you, just as much as I, are ensnared within it. To want is a familiar friend that unites us in our agony. Perhaps it is that knife which remains bloodied and concealed within us—a thorn in our side. Or perhaps instead it is a clean rose offered up and showered in hope, framed by the same face regardless: yearning.  

If love were the religion we have always known, then to yearn has become the religious text we employ to decode it—the common passages calling to be held, to be wanted, to be chosen. Much like all religious texts, this state of wanting can be weaponized or disarming, detrimental or enlightening. However, our generation has approached conversations of love and yearning in a primarily detrimental manner. We have grown obsessed over this feat, aligning it closely with our self-worth. Our yearning for a specific person becomes a unit of measurement of how much we deserve to be here. I believe this state of yearning is born primarily from one or two things, or perhaps a combination of both.  

Firstly, humanity has a pitiful obsession with a state of “nothingness” that resides in each of us at some point or another. Jacques Lacan's psychoanalysis gave life to this state of emptiness and the unhealthy manner in which we interact with it. We give it names—absence, loss, deprivation—and we find discomfort with the reality that there is nothing to fill this nothingness with. It is perceived as unnatural. Something to remedy. It is in this crevice where yearning and want shine through, often slyly disguised under the stern face of need. From this wound is born an obsession for another person, another job, another life. 

I do not think this state of “nothingness,” for the most part, is something we are born with. It is not predetermined by genetics. From an early age, we are gently rocked by the harmless joys of romantic comedies—often white women and white men who humorously overcome obstacles to find one another. These lead us to the conclusion that life is not complete without the presence of a “great love.” Books dictate that a woman’s life is concluded by that happily-ever-after chapter of children, husband, and home. There is an aspect of romanticism in this regard. This sly and targeted assault, which declares romantic love as a need, creates a ravenous want for such a thing. 

Further, not only is there a culture of filling “nothingness” with extensive longing, but also an unforgiving voice that sweetly coaxes us to rot within this state of agony. It is here that we begin to romanticize this feeling of agony itself, as a way to cope with its intensity. There is a certain allure that this generation has attached to a phantom notion of the “detrimental act of loving.” We are intrigued by the intensity of the human capacity to feel heavy emotions because we believe they are the strongest ones we hold. It is here we fall short: in the culture of romanization over introspection and acceptance. 

There is a surplus of songs (Jeff Buckley’s “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” being my personal favorite) that so beautifully encapsulate this feeling of yearning for something we can never seem to fully grasp. To listen to them is no fault, of course, but we must recognize that they heavily contribute to this revolution of want—whether you take this to be to fault or merit.  

We must resist the urge to make a home within this longing. We must resist excessive consumption of media which implicitly coaxes us to fill the “nothingness” with endless yearning. In periods where this silence and “nothingness” are most prominent, we must not seek to fill it or fix it but rather identify the treacherous sources of it and reconcile with them. This is not to say that yearning is inherently malicious. Romanticization of detrimental yearning is the revolution we have found ourselves within. But I believe we must do what it takes to dismantle this fickle ensnarement.