When people say “family is everything to me” I have no idea what the fuck that means.
I don’t know what it is to be loved. I know very well what it’s like to not be loved. So I’ve settled for crumbs, bits and pieces, scraps of affection cushioned with excuses.
Slimey Sam once said in the heat of an argument “sometimes I wonder – does she even know what it’s like to be loved?” That one cut deep and he could tell. He almost choked afterwords trying to take it back. Regret colored his face red. I should have kicked him out because at that moment I knew what we had was not love. I wanted to answer “Yes I do, and this ain’t it” but that would’ve been a lie.
It definitely wasn’t love what we had, but he wasn’t wrong. I have no fucking clue what love is when my whole life is comprised of experiences that fall under what it isn’t. I don’t know maternal love, I don’t know paternal love, I don’t know love from my brothers, and I know conditional love from my sister. I know fleeting love from my friends. I know men who use the world love as a means to an end. What the fuck is love then? And where do I turn to to learn it?
I have no idea what it’s like to be loved fully or loved unconditionally. Maybe one day I’ll know.