Longing Like A Fever

On limerence, autism, and the ache of wanting someone too much.

There’s nothing quite like the destabilising feeling of realising you’re stuck in a limerent spiral. The way it takes over—like a song you can’t turn off, like an itch you can’t scratch, like a prayer into the void, or a secret unspeakable.

Limerence is, at its core, a compulsion. It’s infatuation turned up to eleven. It’s intense longing with nowhere to go. And for autistic people, especially femmes, it can be all-consuming. We’re wired for deep focus, for fixations, for repetition, for pattern recognition. But when all of that gets tangled up with deep attachment wounds and unspoken social rules, limerence can feel like emotional masochism.

I wrote about this in Someone Like Me: An Anthology of Non-Fiction by Autistic Writers, which comes out March 4. My essay is a love letter to this relentless, bittersweet phenomenon.

Tim Freedman

In high school I had an intense crush on the musician Tim Freedman, lead singer of alternative-piano-rock band, The Whitlams. (Named after my country’s former Prime Minister, ousted in a CIA-backed ploy to retain a US intelligence strong hold in the region.) A kind of Temu Nick Cave, Freedman was a weird choice since I since I was embarrassed by most of his music. But he was an understandable one.

He was all the things I was familiar (and a little too comfortable) with: he was a probable alcoholic who wrote songs about women half his age. He was troubled—the sole survivor of the original trio’s “Whitlam’s curse”—and he seemed vaguely attainable [delulu] in that he lived only 2.5 hours away in the then-grungey, freaky, Greeky suburb of Newtown.

I believed that if could desire it—sheer will it—hard enough and constantly enough, I could make Tim Freedman notice, and inevitably, fall in love with me.

This teen-girl will to power took up a large chunk of my time. It was delightfully, enchantingly, all-consuming state of limerence. It seemed to have more substance, more future, more gravity than me. I simply orbited around it.

I went to see Freedman play once in a wine estate field I had no business being in. My best friend got arm cramps from videotaping the entire set for me, zoomed in at closest possible range, while I sat next to her drinking with a conspicuously unimpressed look on my face. Almost bored. Like I just happened to be there.

I acted similarly when, having finally come of legal age and moving to Newtown myself, I saw him face to face. First on the street, then right next to me at the pub, then on the street again.

Each time I “played it cool” and I completely ignored him. Each time is crystal clear in my memory.

What is limerence?

Psychologist Dorothy Tennov coined the term in the ‘70s to describe the obsessive, involuntary state of romantic infatuation. It’s not just a crush, it’s an affliction. It’s the dopamine high of every ambiguous text, the gut-punch of someone’s indifference. It’s waiting, endlessly, for reciprocation that likely will never come.

And if you’re carrying trauma that led to an avoidant, or disorganised attachment style, limerence will hit different; it will mean that your nervous system prefers reverie more than the real thing. So if reciprocation does ever come, it’s your unconscious objective to ignore it or fuck it up.

Studies show again and again that autistic people experience emotions with more intensity and often struggle with regulating, or even identifying, their own emotions. Add in a history of social rejection and isolation, bullying, unprocessed trauma, and attachment wounds, and suddenly, limerence isn’t just about romance—it’s about survival.

Because when love has always felt unreliable or just out of reach, the brain does what it must to protect itself. It goes inward and fixates. It turns romantic longing into a full-time job. It can mistake emotional intensity for a real connection. Because too often, connection feels like something that has to be earned; through waiting, through masking one’s more ‘difficult’ qualities, through proving yourself worthy of being chosen.

For many neurodivergent femmes, especially those who grew up hiding their needs or struggling to decode the rules of relationships, limerence becomes a lifeline. It fills the gaps where real intimacy should (but can’t) be. It offers the illusion of closeness, even if the person in question doesn’t know you exist. Even if the person is dangerous.

Spend any brief length of time in a “autistic women’s” Facebook group and you’ll see three patterns in discussions of romance: being overlooked, being mocked, or being taken advantage of in toxic “relationships”. Less than half of autistic women, research says, are in relationships of any kind. I would love to see the stats on those that qualify as healthy.

If your nervous system has been primed for uncertainty or unsafety from a young age—if you’ve learned that affection can be rare, or given and taken away without warning—then even the smallest sign of interest can feel like oxygen. Like proof that you exist.

But that’s the trick of limerence, as opposed to reciprocal love. It’s often a survival response, playing out in the shape of another person.

The paradox

For me, limerence has been both the apex of my emotional life and a dark hole of self-abandonment. It contains the some of the sweetest memories and most cherished gifts and also the most stabbing pains. It’s seen me mould myself into whatever shape might suitably win over someone else, while denying (them and myself) my wholeness. Of replaying conversations like a detective, searching for the moment—in amongst my many acts of evasion and restraint—they might have loved me back.

If this is you, you know it’s exhausting. Like me, you might acknowledge that it can be a distraction from yourself. But like me, you might also be in awe of the depth of feeling, creative insight, the fun, passion, and art that can arise from such a state.

And there’s the rub: self-reckoning with your limerence will show you all the ways you're a beautiful paradox of a person. It will show you all the ways you’ve hurt yourself, and all the ways your burning heart has love to give and receive. It’s both a wound and a rose.

I’m not interested in pathologising. I’m interested in learning ways to tolerate myself! Not with excessive pride or overripe celebration. Rather, with curiosity and neutrality. The kind you’d feel towards a satin bower bird, busily collecting blue things to make a beautiful arbour. Or a cicada singing out to potential mates. Or a simple statement of facts. We each of us contain a hunger not easily satiated.

Love my way

Writing about limerence for Someone Like Me was an exercise in finding the levity and absurdity in this aspect of the autistic experience. It was also an opportunity to connect with community as well as other autistic writers—each of us with our own stories of love, loss, and the particular ache of being weirdos in a world committed to misunderstanding us.

If you’ve ever felt like your emotions were too much, like you’ve been blessed-cursed with a love that burned too hot, like you’re the kind of sensitive, blazing autistic who’s always waiting for someone to see you—my essay in this book (written in one brisk sitting while possessed by the ghost of Catherine Earnshaw) is for you.

Preorder Someone Like Me

Someone Like Me: An Anthology of Non-Fiction by Autistic Writers is edited by Clem Bastow and Jo Case and published by University of Queensland Press.

It features 25 incredible autistic women and gender diverse nonfiction writers sharing what it’s like to move through the world in our bodies, our minds, our lives, and relationships. It’s honest. It’s raw. And it’s by us, for us. It comes out March 4, and you can preorder it below.

Penguin Random House: Someone Like Me
Barnes & Noble: Someone Like Me
Amazon: Someone Like Me

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How to manage limerence

First of all, I don’t think it’s something you necessarily have to ‘manage’. I believe you’re strong enough to survive a little love-sickness. Tolerating all parts of yourself with nuance, curiosity, and neutrality, is advice I stand by. But if you’re in a more acute, overwhelming state of limerence, that might not be enough. In that case, here’s some things—aside from reaching out to crisis support services as needed—that might be helpful to remember.

✰ The root cause ✰

Limerence isn’t always about the other person—it’s often about what they represent to you. Do they remind you of someone who was emotionally unavailable? Are you repeating a childhood pattern of craving attention from someone who gives and then rescinds it? Trauma-informed therapy can help untangle this.

✰ Dopamine dependence ✰

Love is supposed to be something that occurs mutually between emotionally available people. Instead, limerence is often a solo neurological response, fuelled by dopamine, developmental trauma, and unmet emotional needs. It may be feel exalting, but try and see it as a brain twitch so you can to create some distance between you and it.

✰ Limit exposure ✰

Brutal, but necessary. If you’re waiting for a text, or replaying old conversations on repeat, or neglecting yourself in favour of writing fanfic etc. you’re feeding the fixation. Muting, blocking, or creating physical distance isn’t about denial—it’s about patiently ‘trying on’ a different way of relating to yourself. Even just as a temporary experiment.

✰ Another kind of balm ✰

Limerence is a form of self-soothing. Daydreaming about heroic scenarios offers something substantial. But it can easily become addictive. No judgement. Try to create a go-to list of alternative ways to self-regulate. Playing music, going for a walk, making something with your hands are all ways to bring your nervous system back into the present.

✰ Channel your passion ✰

Autistic brains are wired for deep focus, so use it. Pour your energy into something generative: an art project, an absorbing book, a skill you’ve always wanted to learn. Let limerence be a signal that your mind is craving meaning. Give it meaning in a way that affirms your own objective worth and goodness, rather than sublimating it only into someone else.

✰ Accept and adore ✰

Remind yourself that although it’s an unhelpful behaviourial pattern, you’re not broken. Limerence not only means that you have a cool if complicated special interest, it means you’re capable of deep, abiding love—even if it’s for someone you never meet. Or meet and ignore. If it’s a non-celebrity situation, just remember you deserve all the love you give. And that you’re capable of giving it to yourself. Keep a journal to reframe self-criticism as it comes up.

✰ Real connection ✰

Limerence thrives in fantasy at best. And often ambiguity and distrust. Healthy love doesn’t. Make a habit of investing in relationships—platonic, romantic, or otherwise—that feel truly mutual. Even small reminders that secure connection exists can help rewire your attachment patterns over time.

The goal isn’t to never feel limerence again. That’s impossible. And it wouldn’t be you. It’s just to notice when it’s happening. And choose to create a little space for different approaches, amid all that love.

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A limerence tarot spread

For when you’re stuck in the mud—overanalysing, fantasising, and waiting for a sign. Here it is! Please note that none of these questions relate to the other person. This is because I don’t believe in ‘spying’ on other people using the tarot. Especially in the case of limerence.

This is a very unethical and disempowering use of the tool, in my opinion, and to do so is to make your fixation even stronger. If you’re going to use the below spread, approach it from the self-centering, therapeutic lens in which it’s intended. Not as a lovelorn divination tool. You’ve been warned!

1️⃣ The core illusion - What fantasy, hope, or belief is keeping me hooked?
2️⃣ What they represent – What unmet need or wound is causing this?
3️⃣ The harsh truth – What do I need to see clearly about this dynamic?
4️⃣ Getting back to centre – What action will help me come back to presence?
5️⃣ What I’m avoiding – What part of myself needs my undistracted attention?
6️⃣ Energy object – A healthier obsession. Where can I direct this intensity?
7️⃣ A message from my higher self – A final piece of guidance or wisdom.

Go well. ILY!

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The Dreamer is a newsletter exploring the dream space between creativity and the self—in service to making art of life. If you enjoy this post, share it and subscribe for a free recorded somatic practice. You can also support my work in the following ways:

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This email was sent from stolen and unceded Dharawal Country. I send my solemn respects to Elders of this place, past and present, and to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elders. I vow to continue the journey of unsettling colonialism and aim to do my part to move us closer to treaty, truth-telling, and land rights.

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