Merula Manifesto IV – My Heart Scares You, and a Gun Doesn't?
- 2 days ago
- 13 min read
Updated: 9 hours ago
Sandra Merula is a Mental Health & Life Coach, author of “ADHD and Autism: The ‘Together’ People,” working as a mentor with autism, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and co-occurring autism and ADHD (AuDHD), as well as trauma and narcissistic abuse recovery. Known for her direct yet unique approach with cat-assisted philosophy, she combines professional expertise with lived experience and a bit of magic.
When a sociopathic, narcissistic mother raises you, you grow up entirely devoid of an identity. “You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me!” (Taylor, please, I just started typing, but you go, girl!). You don’t learn what love is, you learn what survival and obedience are. Add in a late diagnosis of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (AuDHD), and you have the perfect neurological storm.
Anxious and Avoidant: Toxic or Impossible
I was hardwired to develop every single trait that starts with the word anxious. I didn't just learn to navigate the dark, I learned to crave that sick, ticklish, electric feeling in my chest. I couldn't live without it: disappointment, self-blame, not good enough, do it better, harder, now shut up, why aren't you talking? What is wrong again? What's with the face? You have everything!
So, who should not know anything about toxic and only crave healthy? I want to be brutal this time and tell you guys all of this as my feelings about anxious attachment style, me, and the avoidant attachment style. His name is Puddin. Dude, know your audience. I warned you: anxious attachment, late AuDHD diagnosis, depression, very short-tempered, single mom of an AuDHD teenager, masculine, quite good with words? Big mouth (pain to your brain), big palm (pain to your face), and here you are: avoidant? Really? Do you like to suffer too? Do you like pain? What is the matter with you?
Damn, poor thing. Y'all can imagine the dynamics, right? Wrong! Puddin is a.k.a. Joker. So here we go!
Joker: Question. Would you die for me?
Harleen: Yes.
Joker: That’s too easy. Would you. Would you live for me?
Harley: Yes.
Joker: Careful! Do not say this oath thoughtlessly. Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power. Do you want this?
Harley: I do.
Joker: Say it, say it, say it. Pretty, pretty, pretty.
Harley: Please.
Joker: God, you’re so good.
She jumps willingly into a vat of chemical waste or acid at ACE Chemicals to prove her absolute love and devotion to the Joker, transforming her mind and body into the unhinged villain Harley Quinn. A rebel. An icon. People look at her, and they see a badass. I look at her, and I see the ultimate tragedy. Harley isn't a hero, a villain, or the Joker's Queen, and God forbid someone disrespects the Queen. She is a deeply broken, anxiously attached woman named Harleen who took a blowtorch to her own identity. “'Cause darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream” (Taylor, I swear I am not stupid, let me at least try to write my own metaphors!).
She was a brilliant doctor who changed everything: her looks, her mind, her ethics and beliefs, her entire soul, all to become the creation loved by someone who kept running away from her, only to later chase her. But then. I could not help but be absolutely crushed by the avoidant. In a way, he wanted to leave Harleen in that vat of acid, but didn’t. Why? He knew she would be perfect, and him being avoidant might mean feeling the pain again, the pain she promised she would never cause him. Toxic, I must say! Can I even start to imagine how hard it must be? What those people must have been through to run away from something that had not even started yet. I'll get there in a minute.
Is it me in the photo? Yes. Would I do that for anyone but myself? The change? No way! Pretending to be an entirely different someone to be acceptable to the avoidant partner, or any other human being for that matter, is simply impossible.
Or better, it is the saddest illusion in the world. “I know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it” (Okay, Taylor, that one actually felt like a personal attack, let’s at least share the spotlight, no?). Also, changing your fundamental architecture for another human being isn't devotion. It is a crime. The actual suicide.
It is the agonizing deleting of messages one by one because the silence is too triggering to look at. I question my every move. I question their every word. Then I spiral so deep that I start questioning my questioning.
My internal support system? Oh, it is a comedy show. The moment the anxious trigger gets pulled, the conversation in my head goes exactly like this:
Self-esteem: "Alright, this is getting pathetic. I'm out."
Me: "Wait, what? We just got left on read! I need you!"
Self-esteem: "Ta ta! Palm trees are way prettier than this pity party."
Self-respect: "Hey, wait for me, sis! I'm not staying for this either. Good luck, babes!" (Doors slam. Silence.)
Guilt & shame: "Oh, hi! Are we early? We brought the backlog of everything you've ever done wrong!"
Every time! I don’t jump into the vat, but damn, I become stupid. You are left entirely alone amid overwhelming panic, eventually breaking down to the core question: Am I even built for a relationship at all? “Who could ever leave me, darling, but who could stay?” (Yes, Taylor, exactly that, thank you!) Maybe I am just meant to be a loner. Where is the difference between five days and five years together if nothing changes? If the pain of not being enough, being too much, or any other shit I was told randomly thinks for a second, or the whole vocabulary of crap going around in that head won't go away?
If Puddin is the avoidant, doesn't want to work on the relationship absolutely every single day, talk every day, reassure every day, well, technically be a pro of "being in a relationship with an anxious style," having their life on a shelf, I will still find reasons to pick a fight or create drama if I "want to." Or better, pull the "I knew it" card (my life, guys, my favorite toy!). Who would want that?
Today it is their tone, tomorrow it is them wanting to see a friend. All those things, even if it goes well and the avoidant is magically not so avoidant anymore if they trust and believe they are safe, the problem is me. I become the "needy" one. The "jealous" one. The insane one, desperately waiting for something to be anxious about, even though my emotional backlog is already full. Because I only appreciate the relationship when it is over.
What's the point? Why? Because when everything comes down, I can see the pretty moments. I can look back and appreciate their effort, my effort, and see that the clingy and needy was actually something to chase after, rather than something that made me chase someone who would only run faster.
It is tiring, scary, cruel, and completely unbearable. The worst part is that I know exactly what I need to stop doing it. I know the steps to protect my sanity. But I will admit the ugliest truth: I choose not to take them. Knowing what to do doesn't give my AuDHD brain the dopamine it craves. Self-sabotage is my middle name. “I should not be left to my own devices, they come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis” (Okay, Taylor, loud and clear, thank you!). Playing the victim provides the chemical hit I need. They did this to me. They don't respect me. It is a difficult, addictive loop that both the anxious and the avoidant absolutely adore, just for entirely different reasons.
Yep, it is time. I wanna start the part about the avoidant attachment style by sharing a thought I heard last night that made me delete an already finished article and rewrite it. It goes something like this: If, for a second, you think that a person with avoidant attachment left you crying on the floor because they got bored or annoyed by you and thought, fuck it, turned around, and flew with the gods? Don't be fucking stupid. 'Cause that is not avoidant or any other attachment. That is animal behavior.
But an avoidant can do something like that, or at least it might seem like it. I must add, at the end of the day, no one will come to tell you to stay or to leave, to be or not to be. But I will tell you one thing: Are you avoidant or anxious? Do not change for anyone. If you feel there are things to improve, great. No one is coming to save you, so you get your shit together and change. Search for help to know how. Make a list of how you have it now and how you want it to be. It depends. But don't you dare change for a person because they asked, they want it, or they showed interest. what the fu**, man?
This photo of me, gorgeous, huh? Sorry, but this photo of me represents everything that is wrong with "what if I?" It speaks more than a million words combined. No, not even for reasons that are super difficult for both to swallow, like this: You actually are on the floor crying because you are so overwhelmed. They are the same, or possibly much more overwhelmed, by what they see, by your emotions. They don't know what to do, and so self-preservation turns on. It is not an "I don't give a fuck, and I'm not watching this" kind of leaving. It is running from something unknown, scary, and heartbreakingly painful, as nothing good starts in a getaway car.
“You were drivin' the getaway car, We were flyin', but we'd never get far, Don't pretend it's such a mystery, Think about the place where you first met me! (Taylor is officially co-authoring this article at this point, I swear to all the gods, so sorry if you ain’t Swifties, guys!). Know the difference. I know. Had to try both to speak from experience.
So if you let me, I’ll also present the avoidants, talk about the pros and cons of such a relationship, and add a little punch at the end that you already know you'll get!
When the volcano meets the tornado
Let’s talk about Puddin. Because honestly? I am actually sorry for the Joker. I really am. Have you ever stopped and really looked at him? Sitting on the floor, surrounded by hundreds of knives objectively? It is kinda hot. But the green hair, the chaotic makeup, that aggressively loud style, the silver teeth. Put on your psychological X-ray glasses for a second. The more we change ourselves on the outside, the more we put on (I would know), the more it gives away the absolute, heartbreaking fact that we are desperately hiding something real and pure.
He doesn't truly love himself. Not even close. He does look like a scary idea or state of mind. That can be trauma talking.
Yet, he falls in love with Harley, whom he created, in his own twisted, broken way. Watching him, in those rare, unmasked moments, genuinely willing to live or die for her is it is something. It rips your heart out. Because that is exactly what it is like to chase an avoidant.
I am writing this from a hurting heart that is trying its absolute best to understand the avoidants, to understand Puddin, and to actively try not to destroy the bolter (Thanks, Taylor!), who is just running around terrified of his own shadow. But mostly, it is a deep shame I feel about myself, as only I know the full story in all its glory, and only an anxious style – very stupid someone would be bothered by what I am bothered about, or my ego, for that matter. We bleed in front of the world, laughing like no one is watching. Still, underneath the laughter, we are just trying to decode the madness.
So, what actually happens when the volcano (the Anxious) meets the tornado (the Avoidant)? What are the pros and cons of this specific brand of neurological warfare?
The pros: The chemistry is electric. It is magnetic, undeniable, and intoxicating. When the Tornado sweeps you up, you feel like the only two people in the world. They can be incredibly observant and sharply intelligent, and when they turn their focus on you, it feels like the sun is shining directly on your face. You see the scared, beautiful human beneath the silver teeth, and you want to hold them into healing.
The cons: The sun disappears without warning. The Volcano erupts because it needs warmth, and the Tornado scatters because the heat is too intense. When your avoidant partner suddenly goes cold, leaves you on read, or physically walks away again, it feels like a targeted attack. But remember what we established: it is not necessarily cruelty. It can be a survival mechanism. They may be drowning in the very intimacy they secretly crave. The closer you get, the more their internal alarms may scream that they are about to be destroyed.
Are these relationships doomed from the beginning? Should we drag them straight into couples therapy on the first date? (That is, the anxious ones can always use it, so practical!)
Oh, what a nightmare! The anxious partner would feel as if they were willingly attending an interrogation, while the avoidant would shut down, deflect, or run. You have to heal the individual before you can ever hope to heal the dynamic. So how do we navigate it? Or better yet, how do we not?
You can have empathy. You can understand exactly why a traumatised grown man would put on the mask, outside and in, and surround himself with hundreds of knives. You can see the tragedy of his architecture and admire him for the artistic survivor he is.
But empathy is not an instruction manual for self-destruction. You do not jump into the vat of acid for Puddin. You do not bleach your own skin, fry your own brain, and abandon your own needs just because you understand why they are broken. You can offer a safe harbor, but if they choose to stay in the storm, you let them. You stand your ground, you keep your brilliant, chaotic, neurodivergent heart completely intact, and you let the Tornado spin.
Because at the end of the day, no matter how perfectly you understand the avoidant, it is not your job to be their collateral damage.
The “dead pigeon” public service announcement: Do not mix up the shores
Let’s come back to something I said earlier. I told you that when an Avoidant leaves you, it’s usually because they are 100 times more overwhelmed by the intimacy than you are.
But I need you to hear an example of what it looks like when they aren't overwhelmed by intimacy. When they don’t, in fact, even close, give a ‘flying dead pigeon’.
Here is a little behind-the-scenes reality. Because AuDHD likes company (we do not!), my brain decided to wake up my dear dear friend Type 1 narcolepsy (T1 narcolepsy). When an attack hits, I don’t just fall asleep (I fucking wish I would, but that’s “for kids”). I am awake, walking unidentified flying object (UFO), doing and saying things only I understand. The system misfires. The behavior goes rogue, the walls drop, and anyone who actually pays attention knows it is the neurological equivalent of a system override. "She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in the head" (See, I can do it, Taylor!).
I haven’t told this for some reason, but Puddin lives a decent day-or-two's walk away, so the closest it can get to conversation is a (not video) call. “You call me up again just to break me like a promise”. (but you do it so much better, Tay!). One fine day, he decided to stir up some chaos, push some buttons, and make the decision of “No calling today” himself, as with all the other decisions, and watched what’d happen. Drama with that dude is inevitable, and you never know when. Actually, it is when you least expect it!
But here is the thing about playing with a Volcano: eventually, it erupts. I was having a day, and with all combined, my system crashed. The narcolepsy attack started. Just for the perfect picture: This isn't an anxious girl crying over unread messages. This is a clinical medical episode. A moment that requires peace, zero stress, and if there is someone around, act like I’m not a nuthead and get me to bed, or if you are on the line, I don’t know, maybe don’t leave, for a change! Anyway, I was at the absolute peak of the attack in a very different way this time, aggressive and nasty, whereas usually I talk nonsense.
What did the great avoidant Puddin do when faced with real, raw, terrifying reality? When finally made to look at the actual madness? Being a Joker making a perfect joke!
He didn't run away in an existential panic. He didn't have an avoidant emotional overload. He literally just got pissed and went to sleep “so casually cruel in the name of being honest” (Yep, there it is, thanks, Taylor!)
He left me in the middle of a neurological storm he caused (embarrasing story), and made a decision again: as he has no idea what narcolepsy is, what is happening, or what to do, he would rather go sleep and manage to fall asleep (how?), because my medical episode was "annoying" him “You're on your own, kid, you always have been” (You’ve outdone yourself, Taylor) Ah, yeah, I was protecting him a bit too much, so he was never there when the attack would hit, but of course I told him thousands of stories about the illness, the process, the attacks, my attacks. Someone was being a great listener! “Look what you made me do!”
That isn't a tragic, misunderstood anti-hero protecting his fragile heart from the big bad intimacy. That is just a dead pigeon. A boy who likes the aesthetic of the fire but unplugs the smoke detector when it actually gets hot. So, “If my boy only breaks his favorite toys. (Oh, come on, Taylor, this is too genius!) I’m out of his playpen, telling you guys to be aware of the difference between Avoidant Attachment Style traits and the behavior patterns of empty cowards and liars who care only about themselves.
So, let's not mix up the shores. If someone is totally stressed out, but caring for you deeply, but doesn’t know what to do. There is Google for that, or common sense: stay! “Well, it could've been easy, all you had to do was stay” (I see someone got carried away a bit, no? The last one is mine tho, Taylor!). But they don't leave you alone in the unknown at the highest peak of a medical episode because it ain’t pleasant. Act like nothing’s wrong the next day, feeding you false promises that have a 12-hour expiration date!
Let's be cautious! Let's not change for anyone but ourselves if we want to. Never let anyone tell you twice that they don’t care for you. First time is their trauma. Second time it’s Yours!
“But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time, Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time, I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined. I check it once, then I check it twice, oh (Told you I’ll be fine, thanks for being best therapy, Mrs. Kelce!)
P.S. Maybe I don’t have a solution for every problem, but I have a Taylor Swift song for every situation!
Read more from Sandra Merula
Sandra Merula, Mental Health Coach & Neurodiversity Mentor
Sandra Merula is a Mental Health & Life Coach, author of “ADHD and Autism. The ‘Together’ People,” working as a mentor at the intersection of Autism, ADHD, trauma, and power dynamics. A neurodivergent thinker herself, she challenges rigid diagnostic narratives and explores identity beyond labels. Her work blends structure with intuition, psychology with depth, and clarity with unapologetic honesty. Through her writing and cat-assisted philosophy, she invites individuals to rebuild identity consciously, not obediently.
