Most of them have one thing in common: an exquisite, lifelong sensitivity to separation's pain. The miniature losses contained in a rebuke, a spat, and other transient relationship rifts can arouse in them an unbearable blend of despondency and grief. Then follows an episode of self-harm -- a prick, a burn, an incision into the skin. Beneath and within the abused epidermis, palpitating pain fibers send their drumbeat signal to the brain, warning of damage. These messages release pain's counterweight: the blessed, calming flow of opiates, and thus, surcease of sorrow. Chronic self-mutilators [and addicts of all kinds, I think] provoke the lesser pain to trick their nervous systems into numbing the unendurable one. (Italics mine.)
Less drastic routes abound: warm human contact also generates internal opiate release. Our lovers, spouses, children, parents, and friends are our daily anodynes [= pain relief; analgesics], delivering the magic of forgetfulness from the twinging ache of mammalian loneliness. Potent magic indeed.
(from A General Theory of Love, by Thomas Lewis, MD, et. al)
Case in point: me, with my beloved namesake, Jaliya.
Heart is the name of the house that I restore.