A Psycho-Spiritual Autopsy of Attachment, Control, and the Theater of Conditional Love Love, in its corrupted form, is no longer devotion—it is performance art for the emotionally underfed. Behind every I adore you lurks a contract written in childhood: I will manage your perception of me if you promise not to disappear. Thus begins the manipulation•ship—two nervous systems bargaining for oxygen under the costume of intimacy. What appears romantic is often a reenactment of abandonment with better lighting.