I want to tell you that I understand the way your family can look at you but not see you. You look down at yourself and see someone that they can’t see, refuse to see. Are you crazy? Maybe they’re right. Maybe you just need to fit back inside their box.
(though maybe i don’t. and if so, you can forget the rest of this piece.)
You try to speak but they drown you out. You try to stand up beside them, but they shift the ground beneath your feet.You try and they refuse you.
But it’s okay. They say they love you. They say the words and you’re supposed to say them back. You’re supposed to want to hug them and spend time with them. You’re not supposed to be full of rage. You’re not supposed to feel like screaming as you smile.
You’re not supposed to be like this, this wild, this heavy mess. That’s all you really know.
So there’s a splintering. A history of yourself as you know it and their history, splitting yourself down two different roads. At first, it’s easy to straddle both, as you try to be loved by them and yourself. It gives you safety. The duality protects you.
But the roads widen, your legs struggle to maintain both ways. You see the girl they love and it’s not you. Who is she? An empty mirror, a thin plastic veneer. Her smile makes you hurt. How do they love that? Why can’t they love you?
You feel the pain pulsating. You can’t do it anymore. You love yourself too damn much.
Once again you’re on the edge. Once again you face decisions. Say your truth or hide? Can you deny the hard messy reality that you are? The cost is too high, too painful.
Their love is not love. It’s closed eyes. It’s hot air. It’s knives you swallow, cutting your throat.
Tell me, what does your love mean?