The Intimacy of Surrendering

Love through Violence; Prompt: "Hickeys are overrated, stab me with a knife."

The other day, scrolling aimlessly on Tiktok, I read a post that said: “Hickeys are overrated, stab me with a knife.” Now, while funny, it did begin a spiral of thoughts.

This idea hinges on the notion that violence can act as a channel for a deep connection between two people. The metaphor captures the paradox that love, which is often associated with care and nurturing, can also manifest in more aggressive or raw forms.

In love, there is often an underlying element of sacrifice and surrender, where one person allows another to consume their emotional or psychological space. This can be nurturing, as in pregnancy, or destructive, like a tumor. The act of being ‘stabbed,’ either literally or metaphorically, reflects the intensity of this surrender—one person piercing the other’s defenses, invading their space, and changing them. To truly connect with someone, one must be willing to tear down the walls that protect the self and allow the other to enter in ways that can be both pleasurable and painful.

Pain, in certain contexts, is closely tied to arousal and eroticism. BDSM and other forms of consensual pain in sexual relationships highlight the complex relationship between pain, power, and pleasure. This ties into the concept of obedience as worship. When one submits to another’s will, they are not only giving up control but also engaging in a deeply intimate act of trust and vulnerability. Pain in intimate relationships turns what begins as discomfort or suffering into closeness. The boundary between pain and pleasure is thin, and in many cases, the experience of one intensifies the other. Pain forces a partner to submit, to surrender control. The power dynamics within relationships, especially those involving physical or emotional discomfort, can lead to a deep sense of devotion where the lines between hurt and love blur. The acceptance of pain, or even its pursuit, becomes a demonstration of commitment, signaling the willingness to experience suffering in the name of love and connection. This is why pain often serves as a foundation for intimacy—because it exposes the self, creating opportunities for the kind of raw, unfiltered connection that love craves.

Obedience can be viewed as the ultimate form of love because it involves self-erasure—choosing to prioritize someone else’s desires over your own. 

This leads to the idea that sin is what makes us human. Pain and pleasure, love and sin, are intertwined in complex ways. Sin is an essential part of the human condition because it represents the breaking of boundaries, the transgression of rules, and the pursuit of desires that are often deemed forbidden. To sin is to act on impulse, to give in to the darker, more primal aspects of human nature. However, this is precisely what makes us human—our capacity to experience a spectrum of emotions, from love and empathy to lust, greed, and envy. Sin forces us to confront the complexity of our desires, the tension between societal expectations and individual cravings.

Love, too, can feel like sin because it often involves breaking the rules we set for ourselves or others. It may feel obsessive, all-consuming, or selfish, just as sin does. By embracing these so-called "sinful" desires, humans connect with the raw, untamed aspects of themselves. In this way, sin doesn’t distance us from humanity; it brings us closer to the essence of what it means to be alive, to feel intensely, and to wrestle with our moral and emotional boundaries. Sacrificing one’s self—whether through pain or devotion—becomes a way of transcending ordinary experience and touching something more profound. This elevates the relationship beyond mere pleasure—it becomes spiritual, a kind of sacrificial offering of the self.

Sacrificial love is one of the most powerful and selfless forms of connection, where one person willingly gives up something—time, health, freedom, or even life—for the sake of another. Historically, there are numerous examples of sacrificial love that demonstrate its intensity. In ancient stories, one of the most poignant examples is that of Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus was willing to descend into the underworld, risking his own soul, to retrieve his beloved Eurydice from death. His willingness to risk everything for love echoes the idea that true connection requires sacrifice, and that love often leads one into dangerous, transformative territories.

In more recent history, Sophie Scholl and the members of the White Rose resistance group sacrificed their lives to oppose Nazi Germany. Scholl’s belief in justice and the greater good was inseparable from her love for humanity. Her sacrifice transcended romantic love.

Romantic or personal sacrifices are not always about death. In many relationships, sacrifices manifest in emotional labor, unreciprocated efforts, or painful decisions that prioritize the needs of the other person over one’s own desires. Love, when sacrificial, blurs the line between devotion and destruction because it demands more than ordinary forms of affection. It asks for a willingness to lose part of oneself—sometimes entirely—for the sake of the beloved. The ultimate form of love, then, is sacrificial, requiring both the giver and the receiver to confront their vulnerabilities, to embrace the potential for loss, and to recognize that love often demands more than one can bear.

Humans are born hungry for connection, but this hunger can lead them to extremes. When someone sacrifices something for another, it creates a bond that is both intimate and irrevocable. By giving up part of oneself—whether through physical pain, emotional suffering, or even death—one demonstrates the depth of their love and commitment.

This notion ties into the idea of self-consumption and cannibalism. Love, in its most intense form, is often about consumption—emotionally, psychologically, or even physically. In some relationships, people desire to be consumed or to consume the other person. This can be seen as an expression of ultimate devotion or selfishness. Sacrificial love, particularly when it involves pain or violence, allows for both the giver and receiver to feel as though they are transcending the ordinary boundaries of human experience.

Pregnancy and tumors are fascinating extensions of this idea because both represent something growing within the body that fundamentally alters the person. Pregnancy is traditionally viewed as nurturing, but it also involves a physical sacrifice as the body undergoes stress to sustain another life. Tumors, by contrast, are a form of parasitic growth, a kind of invasion that consumes the body, leading to its destruction. Philosophically, a tumor can represent an aspect of human experience that is both parasitic and transformative. It embodies the idea of invasion—whether by illness, ideas, or emotional states—that slowly alters the self, changing one's sense of identity. In relationships, this can be paralleled with a partner’s growing influence, either nurturing or destructive. Just as a tumor grows unchecked, the influence of a partner can invade one's life, often at the expense of personal well-being. The tumor symbolizes not only the fragility of the human body but also the vulnerability of the human spirit to forces beyond control. 

On a similar note, there was a woman who suffered from schizophrenia, a mental illness that caused her to experience delusions and hallucinations. She believed that a tree was growing inside her abdomen, its roots spreading through her internal organs, taking over her body. She could feel it expanding, intertwining with her flesh, and she became convinced that she was no longer fully human but something part human, part tree.

When she finally sought medical attention, the doctors discovered that she had an advanced case of stomach cancer. What she had perceived as a tree growing inside her was, in fact, a tumor that had spread throughout her abdomen, creating the physical sensations that matched her delusions. Her mind had transformed the invasion of cancer into a metaphorical experience, reflecting the profound way that her body and mind had become intertwined with illness.

This woman, despite her psychosis, was able to perceive her illness as something growing within her, which speaks to the idea that her mind understood the invasion of cancer as a foreign entity taking over her body. This situation mirrors the experience of self-erasure in love. Just as the woman felt that her body was being consumed by something else, love can often feel like an external force growing within, consuming the self. In her case, the tree was a symbol of both creation and destruction—much like love.

The boundary between self and other is often blurred in love, and this blurring can sometimes lead to a loss of identity. In the same way that cancer or a tree grows inside the body, love grows within the mind and soul, sometimes erasing the person who existed before it took root.  Her story also reflects the idea that sacrificial love involves a kind of consumption, where one person becomes overtaken by another. The woman’s body was no longer just hers—it was shared with a force she couldn’t control.

Love can feel violent not because it involves physical harm (though it can), but because it disrupts the sense of self. To truly love someone is to risk being wounded by them, emotionally or physically. It involves self-sacrifice, the willingness to be hurt in the name of devotion, and the recognition that love can be both nurturing and destructive.

In relationships where violence is consensual or understood, it becomes a symbol of connection. People often seek out intense experiences because they make them feel alive. In love, this might manifest as emotional pain, conflict, or even physical acts that push the boundaries of comfort.

In surgery, for instance, the body is literally opened, exposing its most vulnerable aspects. It’s an act of surrender where the patient places their complete trust in another to enter their body, alter it, and hopefully make it better. In relationships, there’s a similar emotional vulnerability—opening oneself up to another person emotionally is akin to undergoing surgery. You trust the other person not to hurt you, but the act of opening up still carries the risk of pain, rejection, or even emotional destruction.

The metaphor of the surgical table or the invasive nature of surgery is particularly powerful here. Love, like surgery, involves opening oneself up to another person, allowing them to enter your most vulnerable spaces. The act of being "stabbed," whether emotionally or physically, becomes symbolic of the intensity of that connection—something raw, primal, and transformative.

The act of surgery can be viewed as profoundly romantic. At its core, surgery is an act of profound trust and vulnerability, where one person—whether a surgeon or, metaphorically, a partner—literally opens another’s body and is granted access to its most private, unseen spaces. In this way, surgery mirrors the dynamics where people allow themselves to be exposed, trusting another person to handle that exposure with care and precision.

Philosophically, surgery involves surrender. The patient is placed in a state of complete dependency, entrusting their body, their very life, to the hands of another. This mirrors the emotional surrender found in love, where one person gives another the ability to influence, shape, and even change them. Surgery becomes more than just a medical procedure; it’s an intimate interaction between two entities—one vulnerable, the other responsible for preserving that vulnerability without harm. It’s a form of trust that is rarely paralleled in everyday life, the handing over of control to another, trusting that the outcome will be healing rather than destruction.

There’s also a level of reverence in surgery, as it involves touching the core of human life, the organs that sustain us. When we allow someone into our bodies, whether through surgery or emotionally, we are offering them access to the most sacred parts of ourselves, both physical and metaphorical. This intimacy is inherently romantic because it acknowledges that certain connections—whether between a surgeon and a patient or two lovers—require vulnerability and trust to the point where another person is permitted to “do business” within one's organs, the lifeblood of existence.

Furthermore, the process of healing after surgery is a symbolic re-creation of the self. After undergoing the invasive procedure, the body must knit itself back together, transformed by the experience. In relationships, we allow others to leave their marks on us, to alter us emotionally and spiritually. Just as a surgeon carefully works within the body to restore or remove something harmful, love can both break us apart and build us back up, forever altering who we are on a fundamental level.

Surgery as a romantic act reveals that true connection requires us to allow others to reach inside us, sometimes literally, and to trust them with our most delicate inner worlds. It is not just about physical healing, but also about surrendering to the possibility of being forever changed, in ways that are beyond our control but deeply intimate.

Love, in its most extreme forms, is about the dissolution of boundaries. Whether through pain, violence, or sacrifice, it involves a deep connection that surpasses ordinary human experience. To love someone fully is to give up part of oneself, to allow another person to consume or even destroy parts of you. This is why sacrificial acts—whether emotional or physical—carry so much weight. They represent the ultimate form of love and devotion, a willingness to lose oneself entirely for the sake of another. The line between love and violence, sin and worship, is often blurred because all of these experiences involve a kind of surrender, a willingness to give up control for the sake of something greater.

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Authors Note:

Special amounts of love go out to

Scatterbrain

whomst I was thinking about while writing/editing/posting. I appreciated the reminder that my words don’t go out into a void and can maybe leave marks on people. It’s incredibly encouraging, and for that, I thank you and hope you enjoyed this one as well. <3